After the Mile
by Amymimi
Summary: My very own sequel to The Green Mile! John Coffey's execution brings about problems for the guards at Cold Mountain..namely, Percy, on the other side of the bars!
1. Trial

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of The Green Mile characters, Stephen King does. I'm just a big fan with a little idea about it!!  
  
Percy Wetmore stood at the window of the Briar Ridge Mental Hospital, unresponsive to any outer influences. The whiny brat who had annoyed all the guards at Cold Mountain penitentiary was now completely silent and emotionless. He was originally supposed to be working at the hospital at this time, and ironically became a patient instead. It appeared to many that the man had simply gone insane and was now catatonic. For weeks he stood, eyes transfixed and unblinking at one mark in the atmosphere. He would not move without the push and encouragement of others. His only means of transportation around the hospital was a drugged shuffle as nurses led him around. The other guards at the penitentiary where he used to work felt justice had been done and went on easily with their lives.  
  
One evening, the evening of John Coffey's execution, some nurses noticed a stirring in their formerly still patient. As the electric chair jolted John Coffey to eventual death at Cold Mountain, Percy writhed about in his bed, seemingly having seizure after seizure. It was a scary, horrific sight. The previous corpse-like institutionalized Percy was now flopping about like a fish out of water. The nurses rushed in and let the seizures take their course, which was about five minutes of torturous viewing. He burbled spit from the corners of his mouth as fresh urine dribbled on the bedclothes, onlooker nurses gasping as they watched his helpless body strewn about like a loose puppet.  
  
Once the seizures had stopped, a tranquilizer was administered, and the now- calm-as-ever Percy fell asleep. The nurses left his room after half-hour vigilance to see if any more seizures would take place. There was no use in tying the man down, since it was known that one must let a fit run its course. No more seizures occurred, and it had seemed as if they had never happened.  
  
The next morning, Percy woke up blinking. He hadn't blinked noticeably since before the shooting at the prison. As they entered the room to change his robe, the nurses gaped at the sight of Percy sitting up in bed, blinking from the sunlight streaming through the windowpane. Soon a group of five nurses stood in the doorway, amazed at the difference the seizures had made.  
  
"Maybe the seizures yesterday helped him."  
  
"Well, thank God for that. Perhaps he'll get to leave this place." The whisperings were filled with excitement.  
  
"Yeah, he may not have to stay in this institution forever. It'd be such a waste of such a young life."  
  
"—But he'll be sent somewhere worse instead. Prison, more'n likely. Did you hear what he did?"  
  
"Oh yeah, I heard about that. He killed some prisoner on death row down at Cold Mountain, but what's so bad 'bout killin' a prisoner already on death row? Gonna die soon enough anyhow…."  
  
"He unloaded a gun into the man's body, Betsy…."  
  
Soon the nurses focused full attention to Percy. He was now gazing at them from his seat upon the bed. He hadn't made eye contact with anyone the whole time he had been at Briar Ridge. Although they had been watching intently, the nurses practically jumped when suddenly, the man jerked away from his seat and glared down disgusted at the wet stain on the bedding. Filled with distaste of the smelly substance, Percy slid out of bed, wobbling shakily on his formerly unused legs and gaping down at the pee stain on the front of his gown. He looked up angrily at the nurses, then ripped the blanket off of his bed and wrapped it around himself.  
  
One of the nurses stepped forward bravely, attempting to help the newly awoken patient.  
  
"Let me help you get a new gown. That one's soiled."  
  
It appeared as if Percy was going to say something, but instead he glared silently. As the nurse approached him, he backed up cautiously towards the window until the nurse and a few cohorts behind her eventually cornered him. With a terrified look in his eyes, he held his hands defensively in front of him until the nurse persuaded him to accept the new clothing.  
  
Once Percy was out of the wet garments, he was led flanked by two nurses to the doctor's office. As he stood outside of the door, the head nurse spoke of his condition to the doctor. The doctor was a middle-aged man of 53, with salt-and-pepper hair and a professional appearance, with his thick glasses and neatly trimmed goatee and moustache. He looked up from his paperwork as the head nurse entered the room.  
  
"Doctor Jones, yesterday evening a patient, Percy Wetmore, went into a terrible uproar of seizures. He had seizures for a full five minutes then the next morning snapped out of his catatonic state. Now he is responsive to his environment and now moves his eyes around to look at things."  
  
Dr. Jones sat up. "Well, send the kid in here. I'll take a look at him, see if he's competent." The nurse turned to leave and opened the door for Percy to enter.  
  
Percy entered the room with eyes downcast and took a seat in the padded chair in front of the doctor's desk.  
  
"Hello there, Percy," Dr. Jones said warmly. "I heard that you snapped out of your little reverie. Is that so?" Percy continued to stare at the floor. The doctor leaned forward cautiously and snapped his fingers in front of the quiet man's face. Percy blinked involuntarily.  
  
"See, I knew you were playing around, Percy," he asserted. "Now, look up at me like a good boy."  
  
Percy seemed to not hear him, so the doctor lifted Percy's chin up so the patient would be looking in his general direction. Once Percy was generally looking at him, Dr. Jones slouched back and observed. The silence went by for about thirty seconds, then the silence was broken when the patient sighed, blinked a few times, and looked at the doctor as if to say "what do you want?"  
  
"Can you talk?" asked the doctor. Percy opened and closed his mouth gingerly, but didn't speak, then shook his head ashamedly and looked down at the floor. The doctor could see the kid was trying but was still suspicious about his actions. The well-educated psychiatrist assumed that Percy Wetmore was faking his ailments so that he would not have to go to prison for shooting William Wharton to death, even though Wharton was an inmate at the time. Murder is murder, and Percy was guilty of it.  
  
After the visit to the doctor's office, Percy underwent a serious of rehabilitation programs to regain his speech. Within time, the hospital staff realized that the patient had amnesia and couldn't remember anything about his past. He even had to be instructed to respond to his name again. Progress was slow, and Percy would get up, agitated at the stress, and try to leave the room. After struggling against burly male nurses, he would be brought back to his seat to continue lessons. Even after having his memory and brain completely wiped of all information, Percy still retained the bad attitude known by the prison guards of Cell Block E. His ever- obvious cocky demeanor caused many staff members to dislike him, and the doctor still didn't trust his speech affliction.  
  
After many weeks of solitude, Percy acquired a roommate, a short scruffy schizophrenic that resembled Eduard Delacroix. Percy did not remember Del, but immediately formed a dislike of the present man invading his privacy. Most of the time Charlie, the roommate, was quiet and stayed as far away from Percy as possible. Sometimes, however, he would snap out of his shy usual personality and become a rowdy partier, a childish little girl, a dangerous prison inmate, or any possible combination of traits, and these new personalities would come out of nowhere. When silence and loneliness filled the room as certain sensitive or friendly "people" in Charlie prevailed, the roommate attempted to be kind and small talk with Percy, but his attempts were to no avail. As weeks passed, he couldn't stand not talking to anyone, so he began talking to himself to pass the hours. Percy hated the odd conversation, and would occasionally vocalize with a scoff or growl to show his contempt. He never spoke to Charlie, and kicked the roommate's possessions whenever they were near his side of the room. Rage constantly raced through Percy's mind, for the temporary insanity hadn't affected his way of thinking.  
  
On evening, Charlie, while displaying another personality, screamed at Percy to fix his bed.  
  
"If you don't fix your bed, boy, you're a-gittin' a whoopin'!"  
  
Percy sighed as he arose from a seated position on the opposite side of the bed. Once he realized that Charlie was speaking to him, he sneered at the angry "mother". Charlie, in his mother personality, felt as if his "child" was sassing him back and stomped angrily towards the defiant Percy. He was hardly imposing, for his 5'5" height was a bit less than Percy's 5'6".  
  
"You defyin' me, boy?! I'll show you!"  
  
He raged up in Percy's face, arms flailing with passion for his cause. Percy stood smugly and wickedly smiled with arms crossed, watching the man in front of him act like a fool. Unexpectedly, the schizophrenic pulled back his arm and whacked Percy –hard- across the face. Shocked, Percy stumbled backwards, grabbing his face as his eyes involuntarily welled up at the hot sting. Within an instant rage replaced his initial shock.  
  
"Why you son-of-a-bitch!! I'm a-gonna kill you!!!" Suddenly his usual lack of speech disintegrated in his stupendous rage of high emotion. Percy then raced at Charlie at a mad dash, the schizophrenic having let out his pent-up motherly rage and resting at the moment. Immediately Percy was upon the little man, punching him with sharp blows in the face until Charlie fell to the ground. Crimson blood seeped from the roommate's lips as he tried desperately to defend himself. Percy was still slamming the helpless man with his fists even while the man was down.  
  
"Help me! Pul-leeze! Somebody!" Charlie screamed at the top of his lungs as another blow broke his nose. A thick red trail of blood dribbled from the mangled nostrils and rubbed off on Percy's pounding fists. The former prison guard was merciless with his attacks. He had begun kicking Charlie when finally a group of nurses arrived at the scene, shocked at the awful sight. Seemingly quiet, withdrawn Percy was in a monstrous frenzy. Charlie would have no chance if they allowed the beating to continue any longer.  
  
The nurses had expected Percy to stop the beating once he had realized the consequences of being caught in the act. However, the obviously winded attacker continued thrashing and slamming Charlie without any sense of remorse or conscience. Although the man was small in stature and didn't have a muscular build, he kicked and punched and beat Charlie like a street fighter.  
  
Eventually the nurses yanked Percy off of the schizophrenic. They dragged his struggling figure down the smooth white-tiled hallway and tossed him in a padded room of the institution. "Lemme go, you lugoons! I didn't do nothing! It was that damn roommate of mine's fault!"  
  
Little did he know, he had been in a padded room when he was sane and working as a prison guard; the guards had put him there the day he went mad. And here he was, now in an insane asylum, being thrown in the room again screaming his head off. The nurses did not have time to put a strait jacket on him, for they had to alert the doctors about the outburst and give his roommate medical attention. Charlie was wheeled via stretcher to the infirmary, barely breathing and covered in nasty bruises and gashes. Percy, on the other hand, slammed his body up against the door every few seconds, demanding to be let out of the small dark room. Dressed in his white johnny, a maroon slipper on one foot (the other had fallen off in the hallway struggle), he hardly looked the part he was currently playing. With teeth and fists bared, the man in the dark room was a terrible sight to behold.  
  
After a week in the infirmary for internal and external bruising and a few broken fingers, Charlie was brought back to his room; however, his fears of meeting up with Percy again were assuaged; Percy's permanent room was the padded cell at the end of the hallway. There was a small commode cemented against the right-hand corner of the far wall, covered in all possible places with cushioning, and a twin-size mattress chained down to the floor near the toilet. A narrow, barred window was the only light entering the room. Every morning nurses would slide in a rubber tray of food, only to be found uneaten the next day. Percy had become pale and sickly in appearance, and seemed drugged each time he was seen.  
  
One morning, upon entering Percy's padded room for routine patient inspection, the nurse in charge walked in apprehensively to find Percy lying on the mattress on his stomach, pillowcase over head. She crept silently over to tug the fabric off of his face to prevent asphyxiation. As she went to pull the pillowcase over his head, a hand shot out from his seemingly motionless body and seized her arm. Before she could utter a cry, Percy had twisted the arm until a crack was heard.  
  
"Oh no… OWWW!" the nurse cried. Percy began to curse in a menacing growl as he lifted himself off the mattress, still holding on to the nurse's arm, a twisted snarl on his face glaring into the nurse's very soul.  
  
"I can't BELIEVE you people force me to stay in this hell-hole when I done NOTHING wrong in the firs' place!" Percy growled. "I'm leavin', whether you let me or not!"  
  
He rose to a standing position, and then all of a sudden shoved the nurse as hard as he could into the toilet corner, the corner furthest from the door. With the nurse incapacitated, he strode off angrily into the hallway. A group of nurses were waiting with needles poised, but the little madman dodged through them and ran towards the open staircase door.  
  
Quickening his pace, Percy leapt down the flight of stairs to the first floor door. Now barefoot and dressed in flimsy garments, he could run without tripping, and he yanked open the door with full exertion, slamming it into the opposite wall. Upon opening it, he ran into three nurses standing in the lobby, not expecting to find a demented lunatic attempting escape. They immediately realized the patient was not supposed to be on the first floor as he glared at them with mischief and anger boiling in his eyes. Before he could rush past them, the nurses reached toward him, pushing him back into the stairwell. Percy immediately retreated, attempting to turn around while running back up the stairs. The two male nurses and one female were bigger than he was and could cause him a lot of damage.  
  
Percy tried doggedly to speed up the stairs, but one nurse was quick and grabbed him by the back of his flimsy johnny and pulled him back down. Percy's eyes went blank and he stood stiff and scared, standing on tiptoe as the nurse hoisted him off the ground. The hold on his garments choked his neck a bit, so when the nurse let up, he immediately started gasping, exaggerating slightly for pity from his attacker. His trick worked, and the man completely released his grip, allowing Percy to run further up the stairs. This time, he avoided the nurses' grasping and opened the door to the second floor of the institution. Panting wildly and covered with sweat, Percy sped into a room, preparing to escape through a window. Once inside, he yanked open the pane to find… Bars! Percy turned around just in time to see a half dozen nurses standing in the doorway, arms outstretched to grab him. He backed up against the red brick wall, hatred reflecting in his maniacal eyes, as he began to vent his rage.  
  
"I am sick of this shitty institution, ya'll, and I STILL don't understand why you're even keepin' me here!" He crossed his arms in defiance. "I wanna leave! When am I gonna be able to leave?"  
  
"You may be fortunate, kid," a male nurse stated. "After this episode, we don't know if we're capable of handling your outbursts."  
  
"'Bout damn time," Percy sighed. He slicked back his sweaty hair with one hand, afterwards crossing his arms again.  
  
"Now, you're going to have to return to your room until we decide what to do with you. Step forward, Wetmore."  
  
Percy at first hesitated, but stepped forward.  
  
"Now that we know you aren't catatonic, but perhaps faking this ailment, we can send you where you truly deserve to be sent."  
  
Percy smiled smugly, but once he saw the sly knowing grins on the nurses' faces, he grew tense. "What do you mean by that?" he inquired cautiously.  
  
"You'll see, boy." Percy gulped.  
  
After a week of study by Doctor Jones on his newly maniacal patient, it was decided that Percy would be sent to prison to complete his sentence. Because of his "fake catatonia" his sentence would be increased slightly, and since he could not testify for himself in the trial, with so much evidence against him and him being amnesiac, Percy was instructed to carry out his punishment.  
  
On the day of his trial, his fellow guards, Brutal, Dean, Harry, and Paul testified against him, and the public defender assigned to him did not even believe Percy's case. The guards felt guilty for not telling the whole truth about the incident, but weren't questioned to have to admit about John Coffey. Besides, no one would believe their story anyway. It was too crazy to be true; Coffey giving Percy the "black hoard of flies" that crazed him. Coffey couldn't testify; he was dead. The doctor of the mental ward testified that Percy had been "faking" the ailment, since it seemed too odd to him for Percy to seizure then come back to reality. Poetic justice had been done, and we guards realized a true miracle in the punishment of Percy. With the testimony given, it was proven that Percy was not insane at the time of murder; he was enraged at "Wild Bill." Percy wasn't even allowed to go to the trial; he had to remain in restraints at Briar Ridge.  
  
Percy Wetmore: Guilty of second-degree murder of William Wharton. Sentence: five years at Cold Mountain Penitentiary. His uncle, the ex- governor (for he had been beaten in the recent election) managed to reduce his sentence slightly by about a year or two, but five years was a long time for an inmate. Percy had had a motive (being humiliated and violated by Wharton), but no planned-out murder. He was able to attend the sentencing trial, and sat stiffly at the defense table stunned but amazingly composed, instead vainly attempting to remember the guards who knew him so well. No recollection of his days walking on the green mile popped up in his empty mind as he sat stoically.  
  
Strolling out of court out to the paddy wagon after the sentencing, Paul Edgecombe pointed out to his fellow guards an important fact, for they all felt slightly guilty. "You know, fellas, we couldn't save John Coffey from ridin' the lightnin' when he was innocent, and we lived through that. These five years of punishment for Percy shouldn't make anybody feel at fault. The boy is bad, and Coffey could sense it in 'im. Perhaps he'll change now, experiencin' prison life."  
  
On the day of Percy's transfer to Cold Mountain, Harry and Dean appeared to bring Percy in. When they arrived, the man once resembling Percy was now a trembling, weak individual with tired eyes and a pale complexion.  
  
"C'mon, kid, you know the routine. Slip off your clothes like a good boy." The guards held the prison blues open for Percy to stick his legs into. The hospital patient cringed at these words and backed away slowly from the men. Harry and Dean followed Percy to the wall, trapping him in a corner. The pale man froze with fear as the guards changed his clothes and chained his hands behind his back. Slowly, they led him down the hallway out of the institution, in the direction of the awaiting paddy wagon. Brutal waited inside, quite nervous, should the kid recognize him and then recall the punishment he received in the padded room.  
  
  
  
Brutal stared out through the smeared glass of the windshield, wringing his hands. Ever since the execution of John Coffey, he was a more God-fearing, timid man. He and Paul had moved off E block and were now floaters around the normal prison blocks. Percy's cell was positioned in the tougher young block, the block with most of the prison's rapists and armed robbers, C Block, also known as "Cruel" Block . These men were strong and brawny, and not a combined force to be reckoned with. The former guard would be having trouble with these men.  
  
Opening the glove compartment, Brutal found it to be full of paper bags and butcher's twine. "Ugh, that damn Percy stuffed all his leftovers where he'd thought we'd never look…" He reached in gingerly, pulling out a load of smashed bread crusts and sunflower seed shells mixed with the greasy paper and plastic containments. "Hope the little brat never retains his memory."  
  
Paul stood waiting outside Percy's new cell, anxiously pacing between cells. Occasionally he stopped to small talk with inmates asking about the new arrival. Soon the paddy wagon, called the "stagecoach," containing Percy would be pulling up into the prison courtyard. He thought deeply to himself.  
  
1.1 -Paul-  
  
I truly know now that John Coffey was a true miracle. He sure did punish Percy. And helped us, too, havin' Percy not remember anything anymore. Course, there's really no way to defend Percy, since he was just getting revenge on Wild Bill. Coffey didn't cause it; he just edged the man on. That's not enough to get Percy off, anyway.  
  
Percy arrived at the prison just after a few days' downpour and was shoved out of the stagecoach into thick wet mud. I heard later that when his foot started slipping in the gooey dirt, causing a loss of balance, our new inmate glared up into the eyes of Brutal and Harry. "Watch it, you clunks," he nagged. "If I fall you'll all be sorry."  
  
Just as the two guards were about to sigh, us previously having to ignore Percy's remarks, Brutal's eyes lit up. He realized that now we could do whatever we wanted to Percy, for the kid was now an inmate, no better than the scum of the earth. Well, he had been scum while as a guard, only now he wore the true uniform for his position in the world.  
  
Much to the surprise of arrogant Percy, Brutal spun him around roughly until they were face to face (actually about face to chest, for Brutal was almost a full foot taller than the brat) and grabbed hold of his shoulders. With a grim stare directed into Percy's very soul, he explained the situation at hand. "Now, you listen here, you little prick, if you smart back at ANY of us guards or disregard our orders, we have a right to beat you within an inch of your pathetic life. You understand, son?" Brutal released his hold and crossed his hulking arms, preparing to see the inmate's reaction.  
  
Percy's eyes were wide as saucers, and his mouth gaped open. He hadn't been expecting an ultimatum, and didn't know how to handle it. His face paled as he stared up in wonder at the big guard who had just reprimanded him.  
  
"Do you understand me, kid? Or do I have to beat it into you?"  
  
Brutal's command snapped Percy out of his stunned reverie. "Geez," he mumbled exasperatingly to himself.  
  
Suddenly, a hard slap across the face from angry Brutal nearly sent Percy sprawling into the very muck he had been complaining about. He touched the hot red palm mark on his left cheek, rubbing it as his eyes watered. Soon tears were flowing and Percy was too ashamed to make any more eye contact with Brutal or Harry. "Yes…" he murmured quietly, "I understand…."  
  
The remainder of the trip into C Block was quiet, with Percy obedient, even as he slipped clumsily every few steps, with Harry yanking him up to keep him steady. One shove from Brutal was too hard. Percy went down on his knees onto the muddy ground, thick brown stains on the front of his denim jeans.  
  
"Now, look what you done to yourself," Harry muttered.  
  
"I didn--" Percy began, but when he saw Brutal's poisonous glare burning into his head, he sighed dejectedly and rose back up. The two men lead the youth into the darkened brick cellblock, as Dean locked up the gates behind them.  
  
Once inside, the guards escorted Percy to his cell, where I was waiting tensely. I stood up quickly, seeing the thick mass of mud on the front of Percy's clothes. Attempting to avoid the nerve-racking welcome, I stepped forward briskly, eyeing the boy up and down. His hair was in sweaty tumbles on his forehead, and he was trying to catch his breath in shallow gulps of air. As he stood nervously with hands cuffed behind his back, I spoke up with confidence.  
  
"Now, fellas, I am NOT havin' an inmate put into a cell in this condition!" I yelled as I pointed at Percy's pathetic figure. "Shower the kid off and give 'im some clean clothes, then he'll be fit to move in."  
  
Percy gulped at the sound of the word "shower" and his face paled. He was probably thinking that he was going to be stared at while totally naked in front of the guards. When we had to give our E Block inmates a shower, we'd lead 'em into the shower room and leave 'em be. Course, I wasn't sure how Percy treated the showering inmates while he was a guard. He probably beat their exposed skin, since that's the kind of person he is.  
  
As the guards led him down the hall, his figure grew stiff and he had to practically be dragged down to the shower room. Since he had came at prison lunchtime, no prisoners would be in the shower room. The kid was lucky, for when others were in there, he'd definitely be stared at, and worse.  
  
When Percy returned, he was shivering in his wrinkled new prison blues. His hair was slicked back into its old style, for when he had entered the prison it had tumbled onto his face in various curls. His face was sullen and his demeanor embarrassed. Apparently he had taken a hot shower, for his skin was blotted red on his arms and cheeks. Brutal tried to stifle laughter as he led the cuffed Percy on his right arm, while Harry held the other arm. Dean had stayed with me, telling me about the mud incident. He hadn't seen everything that had happened, but it was pretty damn close to Brutal's story he would later tell me.  
  
As Percy entered his cell, he eyed me suspiciously, but didn't show any sign of recognition. I gave him the usual inmate speech and he sat down on his cot in the small brick cell that was to be his home for quite some time. A shiver went down my spine as the barred gate slammed shut, echoing eerily through the prison. Now Percy, the hated enemy of guards and inmates alike, was sitting in a cell just like the worst of society. He sat hunched with elbows on knees, kicking little pebbles around on the cold concrete floor. I walked away, wondering what was going through his mind.  
  
"Brutal, what are you guys laughin' about?" I questioned Brutal. The amusement on his face was so obvious I just had to get in on it. Besides, Percy didn't appear harmed and I needed some entertainment.  
  
"Well, we went to the shower room and stood outside the door, waiting for him to get done. Turns out, there was one other inmate in there and we were holdin' Percy's towels and clothes. He had to— " Brutal cracked up at this. "He had to shower with that guy while the guy stared at him, so he tried to persuade Harry and I to spare him the humiliation. Of course, we refused. After we peeked in a couple times to make sure he was showering, Percy came out, white as a ghost in the face. I could tell he was absolutely terrified… Serves the dickhead right!" I chuckled a bit, then considered his horrid fear when all the men were in there. He was surely going to get it, and wouldn't be able to fight 'em off. Well, he asked for it, killin' Wild Bill. Does his murdering a murderer justify Percy's harsh punishment? I disliked the kid, but was a gang rape justified punishment for cowardly Percy?  
  
That night I went home but couldn't fall asleep. Thoughts about the new life with Percy on the inside kept me awake and nervous. I trod downstairs and opened the refrigerator to get some milk to drink. Milk always has helped me sleep, except it was useless when I had my urinary infection. Of course, that's not a problem now. Neither are flues. My wife had the flu horrible the week of Coffey's execution, and somehow I avoided it. I had even kissed her passionately several times with no thought of consequence. Jan came downstairs in her flowery nightgown and stood above me, hugging me from behind. "What's wrong, Paul?" she questioned gently. "You thinkin' 'bout Percy?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess I am," I answered honestly. "Now the kid's behind bars and I'm in charge of him. I hope he's changed from the whiny little prick he used to be. Don't know if I'll be able to stand him if he's the same as before."  
  
"Well, he's in the place he should have been in years ago, Paul, and now he doesn't have protection." She sat down in the seat nearest in front of me. "Come to bed, Paul. Percy's surely not worth a good night's rest."  
  
I agreed heartily and strode back upstairs to attempt sleep again. This time it must have came, for I awoke when the alarm clock buzzed for work.  
  
When I arrived at work, slightly sleep deprived, I strolled down the line of cells, dreading to see what was in store at Percy's cell. However, when I reached his cell, I found him wrapped up in the starched white sheets, in a mass on the sunken cot, deep in sleep. I eyed his motionless body suspiciously, as if suddenly he would jerk up and give me a heart attack. I had heard about his episode at Briar Ridge, and was prepared for it, even though he couldn't physically touch me. During all the years on E Block, I learned to keep away from the cells, and even Percy was taught a lesson with that. I walked by safely and resumed my cell examination.  
  
At lunchtime all the cell doors were slid open as each inmate stood in front of their respective cells. I surveyed each line of inmates to find that Percy hadn't emerged. "Cell 234, present yourself."  
  
A few seconds passed and Percy still hadn't shown himself. A sharp feeling of dread filled my stomach as I prayed that the boy hadn't killed himself. "Wetmore, get out here!" I yelled. Within moments, Percy strolled out lazily, rubbing his eyes sleepily. I had to avoid any softness on my part. "Wetmore, if you do that again, you're getting solitary!"  
  
"What's that?" he quipped harshly.  
  
"You'll find out soon enough, boy," I replied.  
  
Percy stopped his casual act and stood obediently in the inmate line. He didn't even make a reply when I called the commands for inmate movement on the block, and it was quite obvious he had no idea what he was doing. The prisoners trod down the stairs to the cafeteria, a dark plain basement room, quite large but extremely dull. As each took a tray and accepted food, I concentrated on Percy's actions. He received his meal and walked tensely to an empty table. Some inmates had already been seated, and acknowledged the new guy. "What'cha doin' over by yourself, big boy? Puttin' on yer makeup?" a bearded convicted rapist jeered. Percy ignored the man completely, but the man continued mocking Percy's soft look and every aspect of his personality. I had other duties, so I hesitantly left the cafeteria to head towards the Boy's Correctional facility for the day.  
  
It's not as if I wanted to see Percy cry like a baby when the inmate put a fist through his face; I just wanted Percy to know how it felt being completely helpless to stop constant annoyance. Although we guards could do more against him than he could against the prisoners, it had been impossible for us to rid E Block of him completely because of his 'connections'. If Percy had known his connections at this moment in time, he would use that as a defense against the others and he'd probably be killed within the first week of his sentence. I left the cafeteria, however, with a sense of relief. No longer today did I have to analyze his actions and feel the burden of responsibility if he should die. If I witnessed his death, his uncle'd probably have a big juicy story about how the E Block guards single-handedly sabotaged his reputation and health. Once confrontations started after I was gone, his fate was not under my control and I could rest in ease.  
  
When I returned the next morning to C Block, Percy stepped out of his cell with a busted lip and black eye. His hair was mangled and it appeared as if he had been crying, for his good eye was reddened and puffy from tears. He was a pitiful sight, but I forced myself not to feel any sympathy for the man who "killed" Mr. Jingles, sabotaged an execution, and made the guards' lives miserable. I had to stay on C Block all day so I had to watch Percy get the crap beat out of him. Well, I had wanted to do it myself at times.  
  
At shower time I went to Percy's cell to bring him down to the shower room. As I ordered the gate slid open, Percy was pretending to be asleep, and I could easily tell he was faking, for he was trembling like a leaf on his squeaky cot. "Get up, Percy," I commanded. He didn't move. "I know you're faking, so get up. Don't you wanna be clean?"  
  
"No…." I heard a low muffled moan come from Percy as he turned to look at me. "I don't ever want a shower. Please let me stay here, please…."  
  
"C'mon, you have to get used to it sooner or later. Stand up!"  
  
Percy rubbed his tearful eyes and sat on the cot looking up at me with utter fear reflecting in the cold gray-blue. "Please don't make me go down there. Put me on some workin' duty or somethin'. Anything but a shower, please." He grabbed my hand with both his slender white hands. He hadn't worked hard a day in his life. His hands were freezing cold, and I jerked my hand back almost as soon as he had grasped it.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's my job to get you to take a shower. Stand up and turn around."  
  
Percy let out the most pitiful sobs I have ever heard, like a little child whose puppy has just died in front of him. "Be a man, or you'll be fresh meat for these guys."  
  
"I already am," he moaned. "Look at me. Do I look like some weight lifter to you?" He slammed his fists angrily on the mattress. "I don't want to take a shower," he stated coldly as he glared at me.  
  
I took out my club and held it at an angle to whack him, although I don't think I ever could have at that moment. Percy was right; he was an easy target. At the threat of a beating, Percy stood up and obligingly faced the wall with head drooped hopelessly. I handcuffed him, since it was customary to handcuff hesitant inmates who would otherwise disobey orders. He walked silently, with an icy silence of hatred that I could feel resonating into my skin like lashings of frozen wind cutting painfully into exposed parts of my being. He gave me no more pleading looks, but instead continued with harsh courage. I dropped him off and uncuffed him at the room as the shower door shut behind the lines of nude inmates.  
  
2 -The Shower-  
  
Percy entered the shower room with great apprehension once he realized Paul had left him. Clusters of naked men gathered around the tarnished showerheads, bathing as if it were a completely normal part of life. He stood with arms crossed and knees locked in the far corner by the door, scanning the room for empty showerheads or an absence of people. During his pouting in his corner of the room, the door opened behind him and hairy tattooed men slammed into his back, causing him to slide across the slippery wet floor into a few showering inmates. All at once the angered, sex-starved men ripped off Percy's clothes and violated him in the worst way possible. Percy tried in vain to wrestle off the men, but once two or three ganged up on him, it was too late. They muffled his mouth with a washrag and held a razor to his throat, attempting to calm his thrashing limbs, as he endured the torture from the ruthless men. In the end, the bruised and violated prisoner had two black eyes, a broken jaw, various slices from the razor along his neck and chest, and bruising all over his body, in addition to the internal damage.  
  
Afterwards, the inmates tossed Percy's limp figure into the moldy brick wall in the far corner of the room and dressed to return to their cells. They did it so casually that when Percy's unconscious body was found in the dark corner, no inmates had been punished and Percy was brought to the infirmary for treatment.  
  
3 -Paul-  
  
When I returned to collect Percy from the shower, I learned that he had had the shit kicked out of him –literally (well, more like pushed, sorry for the dark humor)– and he was now at the infirmary. For now the kid was out of my hands, so relief was mine for the day.  
  
Later on I found Brutal and told him about the incident in the cafeteria and the more recent and dangerous shower incident.  
  
"I heard that Percy was in pretty bad shape cause of those guys. He's been more humiliated and violated than he's ever been in his life."  
  
"Well, you must recall, Paul, his remembered life. I'm so thankful that kid's got some amnesiac condition or somethin' along that line."  
  
"John Coffey did what he did on purpose. To protect our good names, I suppose." I shook my head. "I can't believe we let him ride the lightning." Brutal didn't say anything, but nodded agreement.  
  
"I think pretty soon, Paul, Percy's gonna pay what he's owed to all the guards –and prisoners– of E block."  
  
"…If he lasts long enough, that is…." I added sullenly.  
  
Percy returned to his cell in a few days with thick white gauze wrapped around his head. His eyes were bruised and swollen and several bloody bandages surrounded his neck, hiding ugly deep slices from rusty inmate razors. He hadn't seen me staring at his pathetic condition, for he had fallen asleep while sitting fully clothed on the toilet. For a brief second, I thought I felt regret for bringing him to the shower when he had been so against it, but the feeling left me as soon as it had come. Besides, I shouldn't feel guilty for doing my job. Percy didn't care who got hurt. Hell, Dean was almost killed in front of his very eyes and he didn't do a thing to prevent it. I couldn't prevent a gift of God from dying, and I surely won't go out of my way for Percy. It's his problem if he gets assaulted or raped. The kid should mind his own business, and he'll be fine.  
  
  
  
A few mornings later I crossed in front of Percy's cell to find that the resilient kid was awake, and standing at the bars with thin fingers wrapped around tightly. "Hey Edgecombe," he called coarsely. "I put total blame on you for sending me to that damned shower room."  
  
"Well, Percy, that's your opinion. Maybe if you were like everyone else— "  
  
He cut me off. "Just shut up! I am not like everyone else! I don't belong here! If something happens to me you'll pay dearly!"  
  
I forced myself not to crush his exposed fingers with my club, but instead calmly asked, "What do you mean by that, pay dearly?" I wondered if his memory returned and he'd be reciting his connections.  
  
"I know a big man in the cafeteria who would kill you at the slightest whim. If he heard that you caused my demise, he'll be on you so fast you won't know whether to shit or wind your wristwatch."  
  
All of a sudden I was reminded of William Wharton, but Percy didn't have the drive to make friends or comrades or even threaten successfully.  
  
"You haven't made any friends, kid; you're just pulling my leg. They'll sodomize you til you are inside out before they'd smile at you or cut you a deal. As a guard, the prisoners naturally don't like me, but I don't give a damn, so you better shut your mouth before I personally cause your demise."  
  
Percy took his hands back off the bars and glared at me fiercely, but I could sense the obvious fear in those previously blackened eyes. He studied me disbelievingly, as if trying to find untruth in what I had told him. He turned around with back hunched, head shaking like a bobbing-head animal, and made a complete circle as he came back to the bars with slight confidence. "I wanna know what you mean, cause my demise…" he demanded.  
  
"Simple. I yank you out of your cell and beat you with this club til your heart stops, or I tell one of the trustees to sodomize your ass."  
  
With mouth agape, eyes wide and scared, and sweat running off his greasy, disheveled hair (for he hadn't had a shower since the incident a week ago), Percy looked away and didn't regain eye contact with me. He instead walked sullenly to his cot and sat down, devastated. The simple threat I hadn't wanted to share with him totally shut his loud mouth, and I knew he wouldn't threaten me again.  
  
As I walked away feeling a bit better about the situation with Percy, he took one last glance at me, but didn't focus his eyes any higher than the top button on my uniform jacket. I had finally put him in his place, or so I hoped. 


	2. Tribulation

That evening, I tracked down Harry on E Block, now sitting at my old desk. I desired to question him about Percy's reports at Briar Ridge, since he had been there that day to cart him off to prison. During the time he was there, he had to have looked at the records stating Percy's condition and diagnosis. I just had to know the facts about our prison guard gone mad.  
  
As I walked down the green mile, the floor resembling tired old limes, I noticed Harry's exhausted figure slumped onto the desk. He had fallen asleep in a stack of old D.O.E.s, perhaps while typing up a summary on the past year's executions. I had to do that once or twice myself; typing was the most boring job I had ever had to do on E Block, considering that the other jobs I did consisted of legally killing killers and watching men change from sadistic murders to whimpering cowards in the end. All except for poor John Coffey, that is, who had been innocent his whole life, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. As my footsteps approached the sleeping figure of Harry, he stirred awake, retaining his formerly erect posture at the typewriter.  
  
"Hello, Harry, how have you been?" I asked him cordially. I placed my hands on the desk and leaned to peer at his progress on the papers.  
  
"Been pretty good, Paul, although we sure do miss you 'round here." He rubbed his eyes of the sleep residue encrusting his lashes, and proceeded to restack the scattered papers formerly supporting his head. "How's Percy doin' over in C?"  
  
I shook my head slowly. "Not too good, Harry; apparently some guys jumped him in the shower and nailed him real bad. Broke his jaw, too."  
  
Harry looked up with shocked surprise. He put his hand thoughtfully to his chin. "Geez, at least we don't need to feel bad for his miserable self. Kid's finally payin' his due."  
  
I nodded. There was still one thing I needed to know, but Harry asked me first.  
  
"Paul, how do you s'pose Percy came back to sanity? He sure was out of it when he was sent to Briar Ridge."  
  
I laughed heartily at the question. "Aw, Harry, I was about to ask you the same exact question. I thought you'd know, you bein' there with the records and all."  
  
"True, but I never actually took a good look at 'em. All I know is that Percy had the seizures for a full five minutes, sometime on November 20th--- ."  
  
At this fact, my hands instantaneously left the desk on which I had been previously leaning, and I suddenly felt terribly dizzy and lightheaded. I stumbled back a few steps and clutched my throbbing skull as I felt the cold sweat trickling down my temples and heart rate increasing. Witnessing the terrible spell, Harry's facial expression changed into one of fear.  
  
"What's wrong, Paul? You look like you seen a damn ghost!"  
  
I sighed with apprehension as I regained my balance and composure. "Nah, I'm okay now. I just thought somethin'. Wasn't that the night John Coffey rode the lightnin'?"  
  
"Oh my sweet Jesus!" Harry exclaimed. "I didn't even think about that before, yes that was!" He had just realized, after the week and a half that Percy had been here, what role John Coffey played in the web of his sanity.  
  
"Geez, Paul, it was John Coffey that caused Percy to come back!"  
  
My eyes lit up as I pictured the exact cause. "Harry, John gave Percy a piece of himself along with that huge hoard of black from Melinda Moore's tumor. Because of that, Percy felt everything that John felt, and the electrocution jolted him back into sanity!"  
  
Harry leaned back in the chair, pale and aghast, running a trembling hand through his graying hair. "Well, what should we do, Paul?" He must have suspected that I'd have some intelligent plan for Percy, but I just didn't want to get involved. Obviously Percy was meant to be here; Coffey planned it, so I'm sure heaven did too. And to think that I thought Coffey was a total dimwit….  
  
"Nothing," I responded. "There's nothing to do."  
  
"Wh-what do you mean, that we should just stay out of it?"  
  
I nodded solemnly. "Can't you see that this is Percy's fate? We shouldn't get involved; we aren't meant to."  
  
Harry stood up. "I guess you're right, Paul; you always are." He smiled faintly, for he may have felt slight pity for Percy sitting in the jail cell, getting abused elsewhere. I desperately wanted to change the subject, so I did.  
  
"Hey Harry, how've you been here on the Green Mile?" I realized immediately that I had asked that question already when I had first arrived, but it didn't matter. Perhaps I could stir some new information on someone else other than Percy.  
  
"Well, pretty good, although quite lonely. We're gettin' a new prisoner tomorrow, maybe get us some excitement around these dead corridors."  
  
"That's good, Harry. What's the fellow's name?"  
  
"Uh, his name is…" He shuffled some papers nervously, feverishly attempting to sort the records. "Oh, yeah, Jack Thompson. Came from Baton Rouge. Young man, late twenties. I heard he murdered train passengers when they'd exit the stations. Took their money."  
  
"Geez, you really got something on your hands," I stated cautiously.  
  
He stopped sorting his papers and looked up. "Nah, I heard the kid's been scared as a sheep since the guilty verdict. He probably feels terrible for what he done."  
  
"Well," I said as I turned around to leave, "keep an eye on the man. I'd like to chat longer, but I got to get back to C. Bye, Harry."  
  
"Bye, Paul."  
  
With a heavy heart I trudged back hesitantly to C Block. Something about the whole execution Percy thing bothered me deep inside.  
  
At lunch, I watched our resilient prisoner attempting to converse with some inmates demanding seconds without response. "Hey, would you like some of my food?" I heard him ask the group of four at the table.  
  
Burly George Hantrey, a long-time prisoner and infamous thug, looked up from his meal with a glare. "If I took that from you, kid, I'd have to kill you."  
  
"Wh-what do you mean? I'll let you have it; you don't have to fight me…."  
  
The burly thug, known around the prison as "Gore" (for he enjoyed goring his victims), stood at his full height and glared down at Percy with fist in hand.  
  
"Look, sally-boy, that is not what I mean. Now leave the table before I have to kick the living shit out of you." He stared menacingly, pounding his fist against palm, until Percy flipped his legs over the table bench and slunk away cowering.  
  
After Percy had left the table, George abruptly sat down and a small shiny item fell out of his back pocket with the sudden impact.  
  
As Percy distanced himself from the table, he bent over and picked up the shiny something from the mess hall floor. The silvery item glinted in my eyes as he hastily shoved it into his pocket. I would know the nature of the glittering object during cell check, and was quite anxious to find out. Was it merely a quarter or nickel, or had Percy gotten a lucky break finding a weapon?  
  
A few minutes before evening cell check, I approached the cell of Percy, who had been sitting studying closely (I suppose) the object he found in the cafeteria. As he realized I was going to his cell, he tucked the item somewhere in his pants.  
  
"Wetmore, I saw that," I gruffly stated as I came closer to the bars. The kid was too secretive and I was going to find out what that shiny object was, even if it was going to be the last thing I'd ever do.  
  
"Nothing. Why do you care?" he replied exasperatingly.  
  
"I saw you pick that up this morning in the cafeteria. What is it, a quarter?" I approached the bars slightly with hands in my pockets, near my club holster.  
  
"No…" Percy hesitated. "It's a… nickel. Why can't I keep it?"  
  
"Lemme see it," I commanded. Trust was one thing that would never exist between Percy and I.  
  
Within seconds, Percy stood and approached the bars boldly. He sneered at me from my distance of about four feet. "Do you really want to see it? Here, I'll show it to you." As I observed his every movement with great curiosity, I saw the flash of sharpened metal he pulled out of his right side pocket. He sneered with a "Wild Bill" quality, his sadistic eyes narrowed in an expression of pure entertainment. In a few moments, however, the self-satisfied smile faded from his face as the sound of an approaching guard echoed through the complex. As the guard approached behind me, Percy's expression changed to that of a suspicious glare. He must have suspected that something was up between the guards, perhaps an ambush (This was not the case).  
  
As I glanced briefly behind me, Dean Stanton clamored up the grated metal stairs with a questioning look on his thin face. He approached Percy's cell and stood behind me with arms crossed. With the other guard now standing behind me near Percy's cell, I felt a stupid bravery and decided to swipe the object out of Percy's hand from the other side of the bars. I honestly didn't think he'd try anything with another guard nearby, and felt quite in control, with him being a cowardly little punk – all talk, no action- all his life. The "Wild Bill" look came back again as Percy loosened his grip on the item, almost daring me to grab it. I didn't want Percy toting a weapon around the prison, and with his length-wise grip on the object, I assumed it as a potentially dangerous item. As I planned the retrieval of the weapon, I figured that as soon as I had grabbed his puny wrist with my iron grip, he'd let go and resist an actual battle. I didn't think he'd let his weak self get harmed again, much less by a guard with a club and a gun.  
  
I was wrong with my convictions. As I charged his cell, thrusting my arm in to grab his sliced-up wrist, the wimpy former guard did something that would forever change his life and mine.  
  
In a fluid motion, Percy shoved the object into his pocket as I grabbed his wrist. As I struggled to reach the item (which I now figured to be a weapon), Percy, whom I believed to be quite incapacitated and in a state of shock, wrenched his wrist off of my hand in his moment of rushing adrenaline. Then, he attempted the unthinkable. Percy, with both of his arms in full motion, grasped my flailing arm and crunched it down –hard- onto the horizontal bar directly below my arm. I heard a crack and yelped loudly, with excruciating pain shooting up my arm into my shoulders. As I ripped my arm back through the bars, Dean ran over to my side, and called down way too calmly to the guards to open Percy's cell. "Open cell number 234 please, down there." He probably didn't want the guard backup enforcements, for he had been itching to beat the crap out of the kid from day one.  
  
As the cell door slid open with a ringing clang, Percy backed up against the furthest corner of his cell, and Dean yanked out his club from its holster.  
  
"Hey, I'll get the punk for you," he huffed to me in his anger. Dean followed with the violent beating of the snotty prisoner, Percy getting rained on with heavy blows while attempting vainly to shield his head from Dean's rage. He sunk to the floor with head buried in knees, pleading for Dean to stop the hard slams. The blows continued, Percy whimpering like a stray dog, as his fingers crunched and Dean groaned with exertion, his full strength being applied to his task at hand. I wasn't in any mood to stop the beating. In fact, I let it continue until Dean was thoroughly finished and Percy had crumbled into the bruised, crying coward that he truly was.  
  
As Dean left the cell and requested the gate be slid shut again. Percy held his shattered fingers and sobbed out his threat. "I'm gonna get you for this, Stanton." Dean and I rushed over to the infirmary for my arm, and because of the punk's unthinkable actions, I had to have a cast applied to my shattered forearm bone.  
  
Throughout the next week, Dean was established permanently on C Block, eyed sadistically by Percy each time that he was nearby. Since being the first to leave the green mile, Dean was now a full-time guard on "Cruel" Block. I never suspected the cruelty that would later ensue.  
  
Percy was beaten up badly in the two times he had to shower that week. I actually felt pretty bad for the kid, considering he was too wimpy to defend himself against the inmates, but willing to break my arm in defense.  
  
I was ordered to stay out of direct touch with the prisoners for the following two weeks because of the weakness my cast arm presented to the inmates. When threatened or made to do something they don't want to do by a weak guard, the prisoners are more likely to attack and ambush him, especially with a guard having use of only one arm. I accepted the order of avoidance, and instead mainly oversaw the following weeks' inmate outdoor time from a high view in the guard tower.  
  
One Monday morning in the C Block laundromat, between a pot of watery coffee and cheap checkered tablecloth, Dean told me of the many occasions displaying Percy's recent rage.  
  
"The kid's been glaring at me ever since the incident in his cell. He hasn't been listening to any of my orders at the cell checks, and twice I've had to confront him. Next time he does it he's getting solitary." Dean sipped his coffee and puckered his lips at the bitterness of it.  
  
"I agree with that judgment, Dean. Of course, then Percy wouldn't be harmed by the other inmates."  
  
"Well, whatever we do with him, Percy has got to learn a lesson."  
  
I agreed wholeheartedly with Dean, but couldn't discuss specifics because of my assignment with lunch duty on B Block.  
  
In the mess hall of B Block, I spotted Brutal as the other guard on duty. Immediately he recognized me and approached me with friendliness but slight fear at my arm cast.  
  
"What the hell happened to your arm, Paul?" he asked with great concern. He was obviously quite disturbed by the fact that I had been hurt only two weeks into the new assignment.  
  
"Don't worry, Brutal, it's not that bad," I assured him. Brutal was a huge man and would surely kill Percy for breaking my arm. I desperately wanted to change the subject.  
  
"Not that bad, Paul? You got a cast on your arm! That means that a bone was broken! You can tell me what happened!" A look of genuine pity was on his face as he poked the cast. He towered above me, almost seeming to look at me from a father to son angle. Even though he was taller than me, I was older than him with slight guard seniority to him. I didn't want to tell him the cause of my arm, but I was sure that sometime I'd find the time.  
  
I glanced up at the clock. It was almost time for shower duty for the northern end of B Block. "It's a long story, and I'll tell you when we have more time."  
  
He nodded solemnly but insisted he tell me what or who did it. Although I would've like to have seen Percy sent back to Briar Ridge catatonic again from Brutal's beating, I felt slight guilt for even attempting such a stupid action between the bars.  
  
As the horn sounded for shower duty and I headed back over to C Block, I had a horrible gut feeling in my stomach that something terribly wrong had happened. Picking up the pace, I sped over to C Block, praying that I was just suffering from a small infection and not the dread my stomach rumbled and my heart pounded.  
  
Damn me for not telling Brutal what had happened. Maybe, just maybe, he could have stomped over there in time to prevent it. A group of guards stood over a crumpled figure, as a small pool of blackened blood spread over the redbrick floor from the head of the victim. About a dozen other guards were hastily guiding inmates back into their cells.  
  
My pulse raced and I suddenly felt the urge to vomit as I ran over to the body. I attempted to see whose corpse was lying on the ground, but to no avail. One of the guards stepped back from the circle and shook his head sadly as I began to panic.  
  
"What happened?" I said through panicked breaths.  
  
The guard put his arm around my back and sighed, showing his difficulty in giving me the news.  
  
"Paul, some inmate slit Dean Stanton's throat. I'm sorry to have you hear it this way." The guard, Jim Barker, gave me a sympathetic hug as my eyes began to water with grief. I immediately became suspicious and pulled back.  
  
"What's wrong, Paul?" he asked gently.  
  
"Who did it? Who killed him?" I demanded. Already my rage had built up and I could feel my face reddening with anger.  
  
"Well, no one saw for sure. Many inmates were around in the lunch line-up, and suddenly Dean fell over. I have no clue who could have done it, but it must have been an inmate on the first floor.  
  
I turned around to go look at Dean's body, with his lifeblood pouring out from the side of his neck onto the surrounding redbrick floor. Someone must have gotten hold of a shank and caught him off guard, I thought solemnly. I could not make myself believe anybody could do that to poor Dean, I didn't recall him ever having beat an inmate (at least, without reason), and he had always been kind and fair to all.  
  
Letting the tears flow, I squatted down beside my dead friend and reminisced about the old days and the times we had shared as guards and as buddies. The other guards surrounding the body moved away so I could mourn privately with my friend. As the realization of Dean's death began to sink in and hit hard, a rage built inside me, and I immediately thought of Percy. Percy had shown rare bravery before (well, actually he had quite recently), but the guards had found Dean's body on the first floor, and Percy's cell was on the second floor. I still did not trust the fact that some random inmate had killed Dean, and I figured there to be a motive.  
  
Percy had a motive to kill Dean, and that shiny thing he had must have been a shank, for he had been awfully protective of it. I had to consider, though, that Percy just wanted to rouse us into taking his hidden item, even if it had only been a nickel. He may have just tried to stand up for himself to gain respect. Even with the evidence for and against Percy, he had said that he "was going to get Stanton" and that could account for a lot. I wasn't sure, but I had to know what had happened.  
  
As the guards carried the not-yet-stiff body out of the cellblock, I followed behind the procession, scanning the cells for any obvious knowing grins. I felt the urge of tears again, but the steadily increasing rage inside of me kept me from breaking down again. I saw to it that Dean's body was packed away safely for the morgue, and then went back to C Block.  
  
When I arrived back at C Block, some inmates were mopping up the pool of drying blood and things basically seemed back to normal. It's disturbing how easily the prison gets over a lost life. At Cold Mountain, death is a daily happening: inmates getting shanked, life sentence inmates dying of old age, Old Sparky, guards getting a little too close to the bars….  
  
I stomped up the grated stairs, hoping for the slightest gleam of guilt on an inmate's face. Some inmates cackled evilly with victorious expressions from a safe distance in their cells as I ascended the stairs, but I knew that only one inmate had done the job. As rage engulfed me I slammed my club against the bars of their cells, screaming at them threats I would keep.  
  
"Which one of you damn bastards killed that guard?? C'mon, chickens, own up to it!" I ran over to a grinning inmate's cell, wielding my club. "Tell me who did it, or I'll assume it was you and punish you severely!"  
  
His eyes widened as he lost his confident expression. "No Sir, it wasn't me, and I didn't get to see who did it."  
  
I ran over to Percy's cell as Percy was slicking back his hair in the cracked mirror above the toilet/sink. He had bloodstained gauze wrapped around his upper left arm and various cuts on his face and neck, and it was quite obvious he had been beaten up lately. He immediately noticed my arrival and stood up stiffly as he put down the comb he was using, looking quite insulted. He glared at me and immediately spoke in his defense.  
  
"Why do you always come to me? I don't do nothing around here! I'm always the one getting picked on!" He must have suspected I'd blame the death on him.  
  
"Wetmore, did you see who killed the guard?" I asked, not wanting to anger him with unproven accusations.  
  
I could sense a sigh of exasperation as he answered, and yet he seemed much calmer, relaxing his tensed shoulders. "I'm sorry, I didn't see who killed the man." He sighed as he shrugged, staring at me. "I wasn't payin' attention to what was happening on the first level; they were herdin' me off to lunch."  
  
"You sure you're not pulling my leg?" I asked earnestly. Percy always seemed suspicious to me, and although it seemed that he was being honest, I couldn't be too sure.  
  
"If I told you who I heard did it, his friends would kill me on the spot," he suddenly blurted. I gaped at him, not expecting this response.  
  
"Why did you say you didn't know?" I asked. I could see that Percy was just trying to push ahead in the prison world by attempting to fit in with the conniving inmates. It really wouldn't take him much to turn into a compulsive liar. I crossed my left arm over my cast arm, waiting for his answer.  
  
Percy approached the bars. "Let's face it, if you were me, would you want to put yourself in that much risk just to turn someone in who killed an enemy?"  
  
"So, you wanted the guard dead then, did you…" I murmured, leading him into an answer.  
  
Percy licked his lips and glanced at his shoes ashamedly. "No, I didn't want him dead! I just didn't like him very much; he beat me just like the inmates do…." He sighed, trudged back over to his bed, and plopped down, squeaking the mattress.  
  
I felt Percy was quite stupid in that accusation. He had deserved it that time.  
  
"Don't you feel as if you at least sorta deserved that? You broke my arm! You can't do that stuff to guards and expect no consequences, least of all when some other guard is standing right beside me watching!"  
  
Percy looked at my arm and shook his head slowly.  
  
"I am sorry about that, but the main reason I did it was to impress an inmate across the cellblock. He says that I let the guards boss me around all the time, so he tells the inmates to do what they please with "cowardly" me."  
  
I accepted his excuse with some thought, then I suddenly remembered the hidden item he would not let me see.  
  
"What was that shiny thing you wouldn't let me see?" I asked cautiously.  
  
Unexpectedly, Percy stood up and pulled out a quarter. He laughed easily as he presented the shiny item in his open palm through the bars. I was shocked but could see that he indeed have a quarter and I assumed no respected inmate would give pathetic little newbies money.  
  
"It was a quarter, but I was only hiding it from you for the principle of preventing you taking advantage of me again. Hope you don't hate me too much." He grinned widely, leaning into the bars while pulling his open hand back in. I assumed he was being friendly, but there always seemed to be hostility reflecting deep within his eyes, now twinkling but bloodshot.  
  
I smiled weakly back at him, thinking about the things he had admitted to me just now? Were they true? Percy kept smiling, then lankily strode back over to his cot and sat down, the grin big and satisfied. I tapped my hand on the horizontal bar as I turned to walk away.  
  
As I clamored down the steps, I realized that my shift was over. Tomorrow I would have to discover the killer of my friend Dean, even if it was the last thing I would ever do. I punched out sullenly while craning my neck to glimpse at Percy's cell. He must have been lying down, for I couldn't spot his shadow extending over the outside hall, as was usually visible.  
  
The evening of Dean's death I lamented to Jan the death of my good friend and coworker for the years we spent together.  
  
"I still… can't believe someone would kill Dean, Jan." I murmured despairingly.  
  
"Well, I'm sure you'll discover the killer soon enough, Paul, then you can handle him any way you'd like. The man is gonna pay, believe me."  
  
I suddenly recollected the incident with Percy at his cell. Didn't Percy tell me that he had found a nickel? He showed me a quarter today… I suspected again the nature of the item. Could it have possibly been a weapon? Dean was killed on the first floor, though. I had many unanswered questions to ask tomorrow… 


	3. Suspicion

The next day I arrived at work early, determined to find out who Dean's killer was. I scanned the cells for inmates near to Dean's final resting place on the floor of C block. The first inmate whose cell I approached sat up quickly and gave me a look of contempt. "What now, screw?" he remarked.

A buildup of rage I had never felt was now coursing through my veins. Come to think of it, that rage didn't leave all day. I whipped out my nightstick, trying to decide if I wanted to pummel his brains out. I decided not to at the last second, and slid my nightstick back into its holster. "Do you know anything about what happened yesterday?" I asked, trying to keep from sounding as angry as I felt.

"What the hell happened yesterday?" he responded. I laughed bitterly.

"Very funny..." I decided to move on to the next inmate. I wouldn't get anything out of him.

I questioned the next several inmates, all to no avail. Either they treated me in precisely the same way the first inmate questioned had, or they were sincere in wanting to help, but had no information. I didn't have a breakthrough until the next inmate.

I approached the cell of Michael 'Mick' Stampler, a convicted rapist from southern Louisiana who had only been at Cold Mountain for about a month. "Mick," I said with as much cordiality as I could muster, "do you know anything about the murder yesterday?"

He glared up defiantly. "What? You tryin' to blame me? I had nothin' against that guard!"

"No, I'm not. I just want to find out who did, and since your cell is very close to where he was, I thought maybe you'd seen somethin'."

"I couldn't see nothin', seeing as he was thrown from the second floor after being shanked-"

My heart rose in my throat as the possibility hit me: could Percy have done such a horrible thing? Could that little pissant have actually slit the throat of Dean Stanton? Shooting bullets into a sleeping murderer was one thing. Catching an armed prison guard by surprise then shanking him in the neck was another thing.

I ascended the rickety metal stairwell up to the second floor of cells, where I first approached the nearest cell, directly in front of the stairs: Arthur Flanders' cell. Flanders had been on E Block for several months where I came to know him as The President before his sentence was changed from death to life, and he was moved over to C Block. The man had a dignity about him, and even a prison jumpsuit couldn't make him look shabby, which is why we deemed him 'The President'. He and I had gotten along well enough on E Block, and I was hoping that the decency we had shown each other would transfer over to finding out the identity of Dean's killer.

I approached the President's cell with the most honest smile I could produce, but wiped it off quickly when I realized that he was totally engorged in his game of solitaire he had laid out across his cot. I stood in front of the bars then resumed my smile before I was to get his attention. "Hey, Pres," I said cordially.

He looked up from his game and smiled. "How're you, Boss Edgecombe? You still head screw over at E Block?"

"I'm a floater right now. Not sure where I wanna stay." I didn't want to ask him what he knew just yet; I wanted to get him to warm up to me first.

"Could you answer one question for me?" He slid off the cot without disturbing his cards and stood completely up.

"Yeah, what would you like to know?"

"Is that little sawed-off guard from E Block livin' two cells down from me?"

I was stunned for a moment. I never suspected that inmates might actually recognize Percy from his days here as a guard. Although Percy wasn't in C Block very often, folks like Flanders could tell everyone how cruel and stupid he was around the prisoners of E Block. And that was not a good thing for Percy, considering all the things he had to participate in with the other inmates. Apparently not many people knew, or else Percy'd already be dead. I wasn't sure whether to tell the Pres the truth or not. I decided on the latter, hoping he'd fall for it.

"Nope," I said too casually, too matter-of-factly. "It just looks like 'im."

"You're bullshittin' me!" he shouted laughingly. "I bet my damn life that's him. Same pouty look, same fussiness about that stupid hairdo of his. Liar!"

Although his words were angry, his tone was not. I decided to tell the truth, and leaned in closer to the bars. "Okay, Flanders, you got me. I really didn't want anyone to know. But how do you know? Do you know anyone else who recognizes him?"

"To answer your first question," he responded regally, "all I had to do was take a look at 'im. Secondly, beats me who knows."

I was suspicious. "If you know who he is, why haven't you offed him, or had someone else do so? He wasn't very nice to you."

The President let out a hearty chuckle. "I've already been on death row once; don't wanna be on it again, no matter who's in this cellblock with me."

"Good thinking," I said, with a sigh of relief. Although the President hadn't been too smart when he got himself into the house, he sure made up for it once he settled in. He had gotten lucky once and I didn't blame him for not trying his luck again.

Flanders whipped out a cigarette and lit it carefully as he began to laugh again. "You know, it's funny," he guffawed. "Now that I know for sure that's him, it makes it all the funnier!" He took a quick puff from the cigarette and slightly choked on the smoke as another laugh overtook him. Once he stopped laughing, I paused in anticipation at perhaps a continuance of this subject. However, he didn't say any more.

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" I asked in a slightly casual manner. I didn't want to seem too desperate for information.

"Aww, nothing; you should ask him yourself. By the way, how the hell'd he get in here, kill a fellow guard or somethin'?"

I was shocked. The President had just told me, in a matter of words, that Percy had killed Dean. I felt the rage shake my whole body and I didn't even respond to his question, instead taking off the distance of the two cells it took to get to Percy's cell. He was lying on the bottom cot with his face to the wall, hardly visible. I could feel the veins throbbing in my temples, and whipped out my nightstick to get Percy's attention. I rapped the nightstick loudly along the bars of his cell, formerly my arm's place of breakage. He turned over lazily, faking grogginess, and giving me this sleepy gape of surprise. "What the hell—" he mumbled, quite annoyed from my 'awakening' him.

"You're a piece of shit, Wetmore. Don't play that clueless game with me, asshole."

He grinned from his place on the cot. "Thanks."

Right then I wanted to command that gate open and beat the living shit out of him, but with my arm in a cast, all I could do was try to calm myself down and think about this rationally. Before I could cut loose, I'd have to find out for sure that Percy was Dean's killer. I decided to get someone else's opinion on the matter.

I decided that Bill Dodge was a good choice. He was a floater guard that had worked with me some on the Green Mile, and a nice guy. Right at the moment he was doing a quick cell check before breakfast. I saw him coming towards me, checking the cells of the 230s block. "Hey, Bill," I said. "Got a chance to talk? I just found somethin' out about... what happened yesterday. I really need your input before I kill someone."

"Alright, Paul, lemme just finish this block." He strode past me to the last four cells, including Percy's and the President's, then looked at me inquisitively.

"Let's go to the lower floor's office," I recommended solemnly. He nodded and we headed down the stairs.

After we had seated ourselves in the musty old office near the thick wooden desk of C Block's head screw, I began to tell him in the calmest voice I could what I had just learned about the murder. "Stampler told me that Dean fell from the second story right above his cell. Then Flanders told me he recognized Percy as an old guard, and then asked me if Percy was in prison for killing a guard. He was laughin' about something', said it makes it all the funnier that Percy was a guard here."

"Wait a second; you think Percy killed Dean?"

"I'm not completely sure yet, Bill; I wanted your opinion first."

"Why would Percy want to kill Dean?"

I sighed. Before I even spoke I realized that if Percy was indeed Dean's killer, then it was all my fault that he had been killed.

"Well..." I started out haltingly, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill out of my eyes. The immense guilt was overwhelming. "About a week ago, I was on lunch duty in this block. I saw Gore drop somethin' shiny. Percy picked it up. Later on that day, I went up to his cell to retrieve the item. Thought it might have been a shank, cause he was holding it when I came up to the cell, and he wouldn't be standing there admiring no nickel. He held it like it was long. I was really thinkin' stupid and I totally didn't follow regulations, cause I stuck my arm through the bars to grab it off Percy. He broke my damn arm." I held up my cast. "Dean went in there and beat the shit out of him. I let him."

"Geez, I didn't know about all that, Paul," Bill mumbled. "I only knew that you had a run-in with some inmate on this block." His eyes were wide with surprise at this fact.

"This past week, Percy's been staring down Dean and threatening that he'll get him back. Dean had been tellin' me about it all week. I didn't think he'd go through w—"

"I know Percy is mean-spirited and sometimes just plain careless, but do you really think he'd have the nerve to kill Dean? If Dean was thrown from the second floor, he'd have to be lifted over that cyclone fencing, a decent height. Do you think he could do that?"

I could see that Bill strongly doubted my convictions. No one believed that Percy was capable of murder. However, Brutal, Harry, Dean, and I had seen Percy at his worst. He had sabotaged Del's execution by burning him alive. He had squished that damned Mr. Jingles just before Del was to walk the mile. Even so, he had been too wimpy to knock Wild Bill over the head with the nightstick when it came his chance. He had broken Del's fingers with 'em, though, when Coffey came onto the block. And broke my damned arm a week ago, can't forget that. He showed his courage, all right, when it came to evildoings. Like Coffey had said, Percy is a bad man. He was damned right.

I stood up. "I am not completely sure if Percy done it. I need to ask around more. Do you think I should try to bribe the Pres to talk? He seems to know stuff. Told me to ask Percy instead though."

"Yeah, couldn't hurt, bribing the Pres. He got nothin' to lose anyhow, bein' a lifer as he is. Offer him chance for an appeal."

I then thought about Percy's former guard position, and wondered how many other inmates knew about him. I didn't want him getting killed before he was properly punished for what he had done to Dean.

"Bill, has anyone asked you about Percy? Anyone know he was a guard here?"

He looked at me with surprise. "Ya know, I never thought about that before, and I'll bet the sentencing judge didn't either. Hell, he might have thought Percy only worked on E Block, seeing as how everything was always happenin' over there. No, no one's ever asked me before. If anybody really dangerous found out, Percy'd be in a world of trouble."

"I'm going to go question Flanders again. Thanks, Bill." I turned around and begin to walk out as Bill wished me luck. I ascended the stairs and stood before the President's cell again, where he had resumed his game of solitaire. Apparently he wasn't doing too good, cause he only had one ace in the return piles, and had only reached a buildup of three cards on top of it.

I decided that I had no time to waste; breakfast would be starting soon, so I blatantly asked the question. "Pres, did Percy kill Dean?"

He looked up from his game, smiling impishly. "Now, I told ya, go ask him that. It'd be more fun for us all that way."

"He's going to deny it through-and-through, you know that."

The President didn't say anything, just concentrated on his game.

"Is there a deal I can make with you in exchange for information?"

"Deal?" He looked up at me inquisitively for a moment, then a frown crossed his face. "Good idea." My heart rose in my throat. He began to pick up the cards. "That hand was shit anyway." He began to shuffle them in preparation for another game.

"You know very well I'm not talkin' 'bout that kind of deal, Flanders."

"Then what are you tryin' to say? Spell it out for me." He smirked. He knew exactly what I was talking about, but he wanted to hear me say it.

"I can try to get you an appeal..." I offered quietly, letting my voice fade off.

He chuckled as he began putting down the rows of cards. He really was a jovial fellow, now that he was off E Block. "This is really important to you, isn't it?" he stated.

"Of course it is. He was my friend. I'd just like to know who killed him."

Flanders looked dreamy-eyed for a second, appearing deep in thought. "An appeal does sound nice but, you know what, I know it'd never go through. I got lucky once in avoidin' 'Old Sparky,' and I'm not willing to try my luck again."

"Well," I practically whined, "isn't there anything you want?"

The President began laying his third row out. He took a breath to speak, almost like an inward sigh. "Personally, I'd love a huge cell, with my own radio and a hooker for every night of the week." He was amused by his proposition. "But I know that's not possible. 'Specially the radio part." He winked, almost to himself. "But if you can't get anything out of Percy, and believe you me, I'll be all ears, come make me a deal. If he tells you any valid info, you won't need me."

I gaped at him with shock. He was passing up on a lot of luxurious possibilities by requesting me to get information out of Percy first. Percy had to have known what went on, if the President was willing to make such a sacrifice on his part.

"Are you sure about this now, Pres? Because a lot is up for grabs."

"I'm positive," he responded quickly, not daring to look up from his new game. "I am not willing to damn anybody right now in my sit-iation." He mispronounced it so it sounded like sit-ye-ayshun, and I caught myself in mid-chuckle. I didn't want to insult him now. "Go away. You're making me lose count." I decided now was the time to ask one more inmate before Percy, just to get one more story of the account. As the President glared me down, I descended the stairs and walked to the other side of the cell block, on the first floor, to scan the cells for witnesses there.

As I was walking over, I noticed Bill walking nonchalantly to open the doors the cell blocks I just questioned and line 'em up for breakfast. Didn't anyone else care about Dean? Life had just went on without me and I was the only one seemingly caring that this had happened. A guard was dead, and no one knew who did it, but even so, they all went through their usual routines, did their usual stuff. It infuriated me. I stomped over to the cell block and proceeded to question the inmates. The first three I had questioned only told me that Dean had fallen from the second story, but they didn't see what happened beforehand. I should've asked the inmates on this side first, I said to myself. They are less jumpy in thinking that I blame them. They were probably fifty damn feet from the whole scene.

I decided to ask them about specific inmates being seen near Dean, namely Percy. "Hey, Mel, you know that short white new guy who keeps getting beat up in the lunch room?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered carefully.

"Did you happen to see him near Dean Stanton when he was still up on the second floor?"

"Hmm..." He put his head in his hands as he sat on his cot. "If I answer this, can I have some playing cards? It's awful boring here."

"Yeah, I'll get you some playing cards." My eyes widened. Perhaps this was a clue.

"Actually, Dean was talkin' to that kid just afore he get stabbed."

"Do you remember where the kid was standing, if he could have stabbed the guard from that angle?"

He shook his head. "I don't rightly remember. It all happened so fast. Lot of prisoners over there on that block."

"Yes, there are. Thank you, Mel." I turned around to leave. Mel had stood up and approached the bars. I thought that maybe he'd tell me more. He looked at me with a bit of pleading. "Don't forget my cards."

I nodded then left. I went across to the office that Bill and I had sat in. Inmates were passing by the entrance to the office, getting carted off to breakfast, and I saw the head screw of C Block with a rifle in the guard tower between the two second-floor catwalks running in front of the cells, watching for trouble. Bill was standing in the center of the floor, holding his rifle as well. Well, at least they've learned a thing or two from that experience, if nothin' else. Don't stand amidst prisoners without your rifle.

I waited for the prisoners to pass through, then I entered the doors into the office, where I knew several decks of cards were stowed away in the desk. Bill came in, and saw me fiddling around. "Bill, is it okay if I grab a deck of cards from here?" I asked. "I made a deal with an inmate for some information."

"Yeah, sure. Hell, we got those everywhere. Surprised your witness couldn't find a deck hisself."

I moved around to the front of the desk and patted Bill on the back as I left, thanking him.

I crossed over to Mel's cell and handed him the deck of cards, which he accepted with a goofy look on his face. He was quite the dimwit, to hand out such valuable information without no dealmaking. Course, he didn't know it was important to me.

I continued to question inmates along that block, asking them if Percy was near Dean before Dean had been thrown off. I got two more yeses and one maybe, and two more inmates were in a pissy mood and didn't want to cooperate at all. I thought I had good enough evidence to run over there and shank the bastard myself.

As my blood boiled at the thought of Percy killing my good friend Dean, I raged over to A Block to track down Brutal, whom I believed to be working there that day. A Block was Boy's Correctional, a small wooden building with a more cheerful, uplifting air to it than the other blocks. The kids were kept in dorm-like rooms, which didn't have the gothic spires or thick iron bars, and so it was a cozy, college-type atmosphere. Eventually Brutal and I would both establish ourselves in Boy's Correctional, but that wasn't until Cold Mountain moved down the road in 1933.

Boy's Correctional was set up a bit like the Green Mile. There weren't many cells, and the ones that were there flanked a long corridor in the center, which led to a desk very similar to that on E Block. Several offices branched off to the sides, with doorways leading to each one. The main differences setting it off from E Block were the classrooms. Instead of the storage room where executions took place were prim little classrooms with fancy blackboards that boys sometimes drew dirty pictures on while the teacher was out of the room.

As I entered the corridor, I saw that Brutal was sitting at the very end of the corridor in the main desk, filling out some paperwork or other. Contrary to the brightness of the building, he was a gloomy mess. I almost sighed with relief at knowing that Dean's death had affected someone else, and then I felt guilt creep up on me again. I approached Brutal's desk carefully. Once I had gotten within a short distance of him, I greeted him warmly. "Brutal, how you been doin'?"

"Not so great, Paul. I'm so pissed off at what happened to Dean. Been filling out papers about the whole Godforsaken murder. And I wasn't even there. These guards are useless."

"I agree with you there. I've been trying to figure out who killed Dean all day, questioning bunches of inmates, getting some leads..."

"Really?" Brutal brightened a bit, and put down his pen. "Tell me the details."

"Remember that rapist, Mike Stampler? He lives on the bottom floor. Told me that Dean fell from the second story before he landed on the first floor."

Brutal didn't move or speak, but I knew he wanted to hear more.

"Then I talked to the President, Arthur Flanders, and he told me that he recognized Percy as a former guard, and that it made things 'funnier' that Percy was once a guard. He then asked me why Percy was sent to jail, if it was cause he killed another guard—"

Brutal cut me off, making me feel like I was rambling. "You think Percy Wetmore did it?" he questioned incredulously.

"I really believe so. And some other guys on the other cell block across the way said that they saw Percy talking to Dean right before he was killed. He was standing right next to him!"

"Why would he do that?"

I sighed. Nobody but Dean and I knew about the incident with the cast, it seemed. I repeated what I told Bill Dodge, about Percy being the one to break my arm and Dean running into his cell and beating the living shit out of him.

"Oh my God. Percy broke your arm? Why didn't you tell me sooner? I'm gonna kill that little bastard, whether he shanked Dean or not. Little pissant." He mumbled a few more choice words under his breath, then stood up with his shoulders squared. "He is going to pay for all he's done, that's for damn sure."


	4. Judgement

After ensuring that someone else was to be sitting at the Boy's Correctional desk during Brutal's absence, Brutal and I stormed off towards C Block. I had never seen Brutal so enraged as he was. Sweat was already beading across his broad forehead, and his head and neck had turned a purplish red. He clenched his fists and had set his teeth in a grimace as we made our way over to Percy's cell. Seeing the hulking 6'4" guard with such an expression was scary enough for me, his friend, and I was dying to see what the little shithead had to think about it.

When we reached the bottom of the stairs to the 230 block, Brutal raced up the stairs and stood in front of Percy's cell, with both hands on his hips. I quickly made my way beside him and gave him a sideways glance to attempt to figure out what he was planning on doing. Percy was lying on his cot facing the wall in a curled up position, so all we could see was his motionless back and backside sticking out over the mattress. I could see that Brutal was holding back as best as possible from opening up that cell and yanking Percy's ass out of there. We had to be good guards, and we had never just jerked an inmate out of his cell and beat him on _suspicion _that he had done something. We had to get a confession out of him, and I had no idea how we'd do it. I turned to Brutal and tapped his arm. Quietly I said to him that we ought to go downstairs and discuss what to do. Amazingly, holding back his obvious anger, he sighed and nodded.

We silently made our way to the C Block office, Brutal obviously having problems with his decision to discuss things before ripping Percy a new ass hole. Once we had sat down did he begin to talk.

"Now, Paul, I really believe you when you say you think he done it. I really don't see why we need to consi---"

I cut him off. I realized that now I had to be the voice of reason, which was very hard to be. All along I had wanted to beat Percy's brains out, and now Brutal was prepared to do that and_ I_ felt reservations about it. Besides, it was my fault to begin with.

"I've been wantin' to rip him apart for a while now, Brutal, just like you now feel. I just think that before we put him away that perhaps we should get him to confess, because we'd get in a world of trouble if his family found out he got nailed over a misunderstanding."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of killin' him, if that's what you're thinking, Paul." He was obviously offended. "I can't _believe_ you'd think I was capable of that. Killin' pris'ners with the electric chair is different than beating 'em to death. God, Paul."

I shook my head apologetically. "I'm sorry, that's not what I meant. I know you wouldn't do that. You're a very fair guard, Brutal, even though your nickname doesn't reflect that." I chuckled nervously. "Do you think we should try for a confession?"

"How?" Brutal crossed his massive arms.

"Well, we could try to be kind to him and offer him an appeal or something, which, I'm sorry to say, is an impossibility for me. Opinions?"

"I cannot and will not kiss that man's ass. I think we should instead scare him into submission. If he won't tell us _he_ did it, then he'd better tell us_ who_ did it. He should know, supposedly bein' right there."

"You're right. The only way he'd listen on the green mile was when we threatened him. Even when he was nice, like during that time with Dell, he always had a hidden motive. He knew that he was gonna see Dell's nuts cook up close, and knew he was eventually gonna get that mouse of his. And he did; well, at least tried to with the mouse."

"I think we should put him in with Reddy. That'd work."

I gulped. Jim Reddy was a hulking black man of about 30, almost as tall as and with about the same bulk as John Coffey. He had been sent to Cold Mountain from a notorious maximum security prison where he had formed a sort of camaraderie with the guards there in exchange for a lesser sentence and a more comfortable prison, Cold Mountain. Because he was so intimidating, he didn't have to take shit off anybody, and knew this well before he was transferred to Cold Mountain. I had asked him earlier very briefly about the murder, and he said he honestly didn't know anything about it, cause he was still in his cell, and that was confirmed by Bill Dodge; he had been asleep, and his cell door had not yet been opened. I think anyone would have noticed a huge black man throwing a guard off a balcony, and so, it occurred to me that the truth was being told. I believed Reddy's story, and I knew that if he could get even more months cut, he would do me a favor. Although Reddy could have snapped the neck of any guard, he was smart, smart enough to make the right friends and right enemies. In Percy's case, making the little man squirm wasn't going to haunt him later on. Percy had no buddies, had no big gang to defend him against the brute. Even if he had, no one would dare go against Reddy.

Reddy had been arrested for an armed robbery of the Gulf National Bank in southern Louisiana, and had gotten away with a cool hundred grand. The problem was, it was hard for a man of his 6'5" stature and color to boot to hide from the law. Less than a week later he got nailed about fifty miles from the crime scene with his wife and kid, and almost the whole hundred grand still with him. He received an initial sentence of 15 years in Louisiana's most dangerous prison.

Reddy's cell was right next to Percy's cell, so it wouldn't be a problem shoving Percy in there with him. The question was what to tell Reddy to do. I had a sudden flashback of our 'kidnapping' of Percy, when we had ambushed him and put him in a straightjacket. He had thought that we were going to put him in with Wild Bill. At that time I actually got mad at him for thinking that we were capable of such cruelty, and now, we were considering something very similar, without the straightjacket involved, of course.

However, it _was_ a different situation. Wild Bill would not listen to authority. He did whatever he wanted to, whenever he wanted to, and wouldn't have held back at killing whoever came in his cell. He had absolutely nothing to lose. He had raped and murdered two little girls, which proved him soulless. Reddy, on the other hand, had something to lose. He had a wife and child to support, who had moved nearer to Cold Mountain to visit him once a week. His armed robbery didn't result in any deaths. He had received reduced sentences at other prisons and would surely accept another deal with us. He'd do what we told him to, and stop when his job was done. He had done that before, countless times for countless guards. Kinda reminded me of John Coffey, really. Except that he had really committed a crime.

"Probably would work, Brutal," I said thoughtfully. "What do you propose we make him do to Percy?"

"I was thinking, makin' Percy drop his drawers would probably scare the shit out of him. He'd go to rape him, and I think Percy'd bawl like a stuck sheep at the thought of that. It's the only way to get anything out of him."

I nodded. "It's not like Percy's offerin' to tell us _who_ did it; he's being stubborn and refusin' to say _anything_. I can't believe how incredibly stupid he truly is. The President was willing to turn down a damn good deal just so he could hear me ask _Percy _what happened. That means something."

"So, Paul, you ready to do this?" He stood up adamantly. "Cause I sure as hell am."

We crept up the stairs a bit more composed than before, not wanting to lose control of our emotions about the senseless murder that had taken place.

Soon Brutal and I were standing outside Percy's cell. Percy was in a bit of a different position than before, more straightened out, but he was still facing the wall. Brutal whipped out his nightstick and rapped it against the bars. I could see Percy flinched but he made no attempt to turn around. Brutal was enraged. "Wetmore, turn your ass around! Don't make me come in there!" I could hear his breathing quicken as Percy lay still on the cot.

I spoke up, wanting to give Percy one last chance to reveal what he knew about the killings before we went through with our threat.

"Percy," I said, hoping that the use of his first name might incite some trusting feelings towards me, in our version of the good cop-bad cop game. "You need to tell us what you know about the murder. Now, maybe you yourself didn't murder that guard, but there are quite a few inmates here who think that you know somethin'."

Percy flopped over, and immediately rose to his feet. He stood across from me, glared directly at me with hate in his eyes, and spit in my face.

As I wiped it off, holding myself back from attacking him, he began to speak in a taunting, cocky voice. I could see Brutal's blood pressure increasing, for the veins in his temple were throbbing and he was practically panting with exertion.

"You know what? I don't have to tell _anyone _anythin' bout what I know and what I don't know. You can kiss my ass. Think you can get to me with your little promises and bribes? Better think again, assholes. Didn't you hear what I tole you yesterday, boss? I ain't tellin' you a thing, no matter what you do. I tried to be nice but you been pushin' me to the limit." He leaned toward the bars dangerously. "Want me to break your _other_ arm?" At that he laughed wickedly and walked over to his toilet. "Excuse me while I take a piss."

I backed away from the bars, not sure what to think of Percy's actions. Percy was truly evil. Either that or he was completely insane, sayin' those things while a huge, burly guard stood by his door with a nightstick in one hand and a .38 near the other. The time before when I had talked to him, he had at least been civil about it. Now it was all changed because he had acquired some kind of cockiness over breaking my arm and wasn't about to back down. I had been caught so offguard by his spitting on my face that I just stood there, feeling the remnants of his saliva on my hand, having not been able to rub it all off on my pants. As he turned to face the toilet, I glanced over at Brutal. He was looking down at Bill Dodge and two other guards on the first floor, who were obviously incredulous over what they had just heard, and by God, they had heard it all. If anything bad came of this, they could testify that they heard Percy threaten us and refuse to disclose information of a prison guard's murder. That truly meant something.

I could tell by the look on Brutal's face that he was ready to kill Percy. After a quick look from him, I stepped over in front of Reddy's cell and coaxed him to the bars with a finger. "Jim," I whispered. "I was wonderin' if you could do me and Brutal here a favor. If you do, we'll see to it that your sentence is reduced. Would you be interested?"

"I been listenin' to what you been sayin' to that inmate. Want me to do somethin' to him?"

I nodded, then leaned in closer to him, telling him very quietly what he was to do to Percy.

Brutal shouted angrily to the guard tower, "Open cell 234!" and Percy's cell door clanged open. He glanced over at me and mouthed 'are you ready' to which I nodded. Immediately he stomped into Percy's cell, nightstick in hand. I jogged over from Reddy's cell and pulled out my .38 caliber pistol as backup, in case things got out of hand. Hell, Percy _had_ broken my arm; I couldn't take a chance again. Besides, I would never be able to forgive myself if Brutal got hurt... or worse.


	5. Confrontation

Percy spun around from his position in front of the toilet at the sound of the clanging of his cell door, pissing all over the bottom of Brutal's pants. Brutal didn't even look down. I had a flashback as to the time that Wild Bill, laughing like a hyena, had done the same to the bottom of Harry Telweger's pants, and the parallel between these two inmates was beginning to scare me. Percy was getting out in a couple years? I dreaded the thought. I truly believed that he could kill someone else—and would.

I stared at the deadly encounter. Percy stood in front of the toilet, a sly smile on his face, exposed to Brutal and me, but not caring about it. Brutal had his barrel-like arms down at his sides, not wanting to give away what he was to do, but not wanting to be at a disadvantage with crossed arms if Percy should run at him. Sweat poured off the back of his neck, and I could see that he had gooseflesh on his arms. This was truly a tense moment. I wondered if Percy realized what was coming to him.

All of a sudden, Brutal raised his arms and with a grunt of exertion, lunged at Percy, knocking his back against the wall behind the toilet. Percy's legs went out beneath him, and he fell onto his rear end on the toilet, cringing as his back hit the metal sink behind the toilet. I could tell that his collision with the sink had really hurt, because he was still cringing a bit in the first few seconds he was seated in front of Brutal. Hours seemed to pass as Percy, motionless, stared up at Brutal's coat buttons, his mouth shut but not showing one particular emotion on his face, seemingly accepting his fate. With extreme caution, Percy buttoned his pants back up as he continued to gape at Brutal.

Brutal then grabbed Percy by the arms, yanked him off the toilet, and spun him around in what seemed to be an effortless process. Once Percy was facing the wall in front of the burly guard, Brutal grabbed one of Percy's hands and cuffed it behind his back, all with no resistance. However, when he went for the second hand, Percy tried to fight back, wrenching his hand away from Brutal and speaking up.

"What the hell are you doing with me? What the hell did I do to you?"

Apparently once he realized Brutal wasn't going to murder him, he got some guts. Instead of answering him, though, Brutal grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face off of the wall. Percy fell to his knees on the toilet seat, almost toppling over sideways when a knee went into the hole. It was way too late for him to attempt to compose himself from the embarrassment of his puppet-like actions, and so he allowed Brutal to cuff his other hand.

Once Percy was handcuffed, Brutal spun him around so that the short former guard was facing him, and spoke to him in a taunting tone.

"Guess where you're goin', Wetmore."

Percy had been hanging his head up to this point, allowing the blood from the new wound on his forehead to drip onto the floor, but he jerked it up at Brutal's comment. "What?" he murmured quietly.

"You're going to stay with Reddy."

Percy's composure, emotionless as it was, changed as soon as Brutal had said this. His eyes went wild with disbelief and his legs began to shake. "So you're fixin' to kill me then! Why don't you just do it now?" He stepped in front of the bars offside the door where I was standing, holding my gun to my side, and positioned himself in front of the lowered barrel. "Shoot me, you lugoon. I broke your arm, so I deserve to die."

I could smell his sour, hot breath as he edged closer to me, almost wondering if he was going to spit on me again. Instead, Brutal jerked him sideways so he was positioned in the doorway, and yelled down to the guards, "Open cell 233!" as he pushed Percy out onto the corridor. Once Reddy's door was wide open, he shoved Percy into the cell, handcuffs and all. Reddy was sitting on the lower cot, following my instructions to look like this was a casual change of cells, and not an expected beating. I yelled down to the guards to close both the cells, and so Percy was now stuck with Reddy.

Percy spun around immediately as Reddy's door clanged shut, gaping at Brutal and me with wild, hopeless eyes. "You can't leave me in here!" he muttered pitifully.

"Turn around," Brutal instructed. Percy shot him an angry glance and hesitated. "Oh, so you don't want me to take your cuffs off, that's fine," the burly guard said. Percy immediately turned around and pushed his hands out the slot. With the back of Percy's head so near to the bars, Brutal whispered into his ear, "You want out of here? What do you know about Dean Stanton's murder?"

Percy spun around quickly and faced us, seething with anger. "So, you put me in here just to get something out of me, and not because I done anything wrong! I'm gonna get you both fired for this…."

"Suit yourself, Wetmore," I say. "You'll just have to deal with having no use of your hands then. See you later."

"You can't leave me in here with these on. I know people that'll take you down, seeing me get treated this way."

I felt a slight pity for him being in his state, with Reddy. I figured I'd give him as good a chance as any against the large black man. "Okay, lemme take 'em off you. I have my reasons for doing this, and it's not 'cause I'm scared I'll meet your _people_." I put away my gun and proceeded to take the handcuffs off him, and afterwards, he turned around to face me.

"Please put me back in my cell. I won't fight you," he calmly begged.

"Of course you won't fight me. You didn't even fight Brutal when he put you in _this _cell. You just answer our questions honestly and open—"

I was cut off by the scene of watching Percy being pulled backwards by Reddy into the cell, the black man's huge arms wrapped around Percy's waist like a python around a rat. Although I would have enjoyed watching for a while, our former guard wouldn't be getting the full effect of his new situation knowing that two hated guards were staring at him. As I walked away, my confidence in finding out what we needed to know from him was building. I think Brutal was feeling the same way, because the tenseness in his body had practically disappeared.

"If you'd like to reconsider," I said as I walked away, "just yell, and this'll all be over."

--Not Reddy…..--

As the thick arms tightened around his waist, Percy gaped, wide-eyed, watching the guards going down the stairs, truly leaving him with the brute. In his previous arrogance, he hadn't considered that inmates could be on the _guards'_ side as well. Physical resistance was impossible now. He had to try to talk himself out of this cruel fate, attempt to convince the inmate to see his point of view.

"Uhh, mister," the short pale man croaked weakly, "please don't do what I think you're gonna do. I-I could be of use to you."

"Oh, you'll be of use to me, alright," Reddy chuckled, with a deep throaty voice much like Coffey's.

"Wh-what did they offe—what the hell are you gettin' out of this?" Percy stammered in as annoyed a tone as he could muster. This whole situation seemed like a joke to the black man, and he hated to be the brunt of it. The man didn't respond to him, instead immediately jerking him off the ground and spinning him around to face the cot. Percy didn't even attempt to struggle against his new position further in the con's cell, instead becoming dead weight in Reddy's arms.

After an extremely tense silence, he regained some stiffness in his legs and neck and spoke again, realizing that he had to act quickly to prevent whatever was planned for him here.

"D-don't you see what they're tryin' to do?" Percy croaked. "They're takin' advantage of you. The-these men that you could crush in a second are using_ you_ to do their dirty work. You shouldn't be standin' for this."

Reddy didn't answer him, instead making a slight change in stance, for Percy could sense that he was being pushed closer to the cot. He didn't want to turn his head to see what exactly his captor must have been thinking at that moment, but did want to see if anyone was paying attention to this abuse, and he looked out into the cellblock. The other side of the cellblock was completely empty, which meant that they must've all went down to breakfast, which meant there were no witnesses. Those guards had picked a good time to ensure that the prisoners hadn't seen them treating him so cruelly.

Before he could even react, Percy was pushed headfirst onto the cot by Reddy, splayed out across the mattress, no longer having the support of his legs on the floor. A chill ran up his spine and he turned his head with one last pitiful glance at the black man behind him as he felt a draft from his waist down.

Sweat poured across his forehead as he tried in vain to flip himself over. Reddy held him down with one hand in the small of his back. The former guard didn't want to imagine the inexorable pain he would be experiencing if he couldn't think of something quickly.

"Please—Mr. Reddy… you don't wanna do this," he stammered, struggling fervently.

"And why not?"

"B-because… I… I…" His mind went completely blank.

"That's what I thought."

Reddy looked around the cellblock for sign of the guards. He hadn't expected Percy to make it this far, to the actual point of being stripped down, without a confession or _some_ form of apology. He had to be a complete idiot to let things proceed to this point. However, Paul had told him to do what he needed to do to get Percy to squeal. The guards were nowhere to be seen, but then again, neither was anyone else. He had been away from home for several years now, and had had to do the deed before with other inmates, to prove himself powerful to others. Instead, it had made him feel evil and perverted. But, hell, this white guy was as evil as any, and he wasn't about to feel guilty for obeying orders.

A hard slap on his bare backside made Percy yelp and jerk his head up, as he desperately tried to wriggle free.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he muttered, voice beginning to shake.

He heard a deep throaty laugh from behind him, a truly sadistic tone to it sending a chill down his spine.

"You best loosen yourself up some," Reddy commented, holding Percy firmly by his hips. "Or else you not gonna be able to sit for a month."

It was then that Percy let his head droop onto the mattress, seemingly giving up.

"I didn't tell you to loosen your neck muscles, you dumb shit," Reddy fumed. He planted another hard slap on Percy's backside.

Slowly, shakily, Percy spread his legs, imagining the incredible pain that was to come. His vision was actually shaking with the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins at the moment, and he could almost feel the sweat poring out of his skin.

As soon as he heard the sound of Reddy's zipper, though, he decided to swallow his pride and beg for mercy.

"P-please—Mr. Reddy—is there anything, _anything_ I can do to make you—not do what you're gonna do?"

"The only way that's gonna happen is if you get those guards back here and tell them what you know," was the taunting reply.

He felt Reddy's body heat as the man leaned in closer behind him, panic continuing to rise within him until he felt faint.

"Please, don't do this; I'll do anything, I swear. I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you turn against a fellow inmate—and side with _them_." The quip he had inserted at the end was stupid—and would cost him. He held his breath and gritted his teeth, trying his hardest to take what was to come like a man.

As soon as it touched him, however, he let out a loud scream. During that time, Paul and Brutal were talking to Bill Dodge down on the first floor almost directly below the cell, and immediately stood up, hoping that Percy had given in early on and wasn't actually responding to being raped—which _would_ be a thing to scream and cry about.

Reddy immediately zipped himself back up so the guards wouldn't see how close he was to doing the deed. It was embarrassing for him to push around someone so much weaker than he, and to be caught doing so.

Tears had now appeared in Percy's eyes, and his hair was wild and soaked with a cold sweat. The sound of the zipper again was a relief, but would he himself follow through with telling the guards what he knew? He attempted to stand back up, turning his head as far as it would go to watch the guards ascending the stairs as he tried to pull his pants up. His plans were thwarted when Reddy suddenly grabbed both of his wrists in one enormous hand and pinned them in the small of his back so that he was still bending over half-naked but now completely unarmed, chin shoved into the mattress. It was this way that the guards saw him as they took their positions outside the cell.

--Paul—

I have to admit, I never thought I'd feel quite as guilty as I did when I saw the pitiful figure of Percy bent over that mattress with bare ass hangin' out for all to see. Poor kid couldn't even look at us; his embarrassment must've been so tremendous. Reddy was holdin' him in place with a single hand and nothing more; it was sad to see how weak Percy was to not be able to get out of the position he was in.

We stood, waiting for Percy to say something, since we didn't want to set him off again with any type of vocalization and make him clam up. I wonder how far Reddy got with him. Surely in that time he got further than just pulling the kid's britches down. Why else would the boy have let out such a pitiful scream?

Percy remained still with face pressed into the mattress. I saw Brutal begin to take a step towards the cell, but held him back with an arm. He complied with a silent sigh, staying where he was and not an inch farther. I looked at Reddy, who seemed to be wondering what to do next. This stubborn silence Percy was givin' us was too thick in the air for me to watch last for too long. I nodded to Reddy.

All of a sudden, Reddy pulled his free hand back, kinda like a baseball bat, and whacked Percy hard across the seat with a hit so hard it immediately caused a purplish hue to spread over the place where it had landed. Percy jerked his head up involuntarily, whimpering and blubbering like a lost orphan, probably figurin' we had since left.

Once he realized we were still present, he couldn't do much to hide the fact that tears were streaming down his face and his eyes were glossy with fresh tears. He had been spanked like a naughty child in front of his most hated enemies—and I feared his response.

"I didn't do it," he mumbled, face aimed down into the mattress once again. "I swear to God I didn't do it."

"If that's so, then why did an inmate down the block turn down a deal so you'd be the one to talk? Can you tell us that?"

"I—I don't know," he said, his voice thick with tears. "I think he was jus' tryin' to get me to look all guilty as hell 'cause I was once a guard here—"

Oh my Lord in Heaven, my heart skipped a beat—no, two or three beats. How did Percy remember somethin' like that, saying it so matter-of-factly –unlike his spacey demeanor at his own trial—and not be screaming his head off about what else happened in his past? Brutal looked over at me, a tinge of panic in his eyes and a pale hue spreading over his face, though he tried not to show it.

"W-what did you say?" I asked, my voice beginning to quiver. Percy hesitated to respond, so Reddy shoved his arm forcefully into the small of Percy's back with a resounding thud.

"I—I—" he began to stammer, tears welling over once again. "Th—they know I used to work here, they said. They said I was over on E block—death row—" his head shot up, eyes aimed at me. "—wait a second, didn't both of you work over there?"

Here it came: his memory was returning. Maybe my jaw dropped, maybe Brutal's did too; I don't remember. In our stunned silence, we allowed Percy to continue.

"Yeah, I remember you both. Why the hell did you testify against me and get me stuck in this shithole? And now you're trying to torture a confession outta me..."

I could see in my peripherals Brutal glancing over at me, the worry evident on his face and in his body language. I knew better. It was simple—Percy was bluffing.

"If you truly remembered us, Percy, you'd know damn well why we testified against you. Don't you remember the trial?"

"Some coworkers—and you both try to pull yourselves off as honest men," he sneered. Reddy had been holding him in place until that point but released his grip for a moment. Percy took advantage of the new freedom and stood up facing us, pulling his drawers back up.

"You listen here," Brutal began, stepping close to the bars, "fear is all you know. Kindness, hell, you've shrugged it right off with a smart ass remark time and time again. What do you suppose we do with you?"

The brat stood on the other side of the bars, Reddy looming behind him. The fear and shame on his face from before had all but completely disappeared.

"Oh, jus' what you're doin', fellas," he began in a sarcastic tone. "I'm sure you're both getting your kicks from watchin' me squirm. And it's also working so well, ain't it? I've tole you all you want to know about everything, so chalk torture up as a surefire success."

It was then that Reddy grabbed Percy from behind much like Wild Bill had done before, wrapping his huge arms around the small man's torso. Percy's face became white as a ghost as his drawers fell around his ankles and one of Reddy's arms disappeared behind his back. Writhing, he shut his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as a whimper escaped his lips.

Reddy soon let him go and he stood stiffly in place, practically on tiptoe, with eyes still closed. He opened his mouth to speak without opening his eyes. Blood could be seen forming on his lower lip.

"Get me out of here and I'll tell you what you want to know."

Soon Percy was totally clothed and out of Reddy's cell. The three of us entered his cell, Brutal closest to the door with hand near his pistol. We watched Percy intently, noting his silence as he avoided our gaze.

"Now is there somethin' you want to tell us, Percy?" I asked him after a time.

He looked up at me and took a seat on his mattress.

"It was my shank," he started, staring down at the floor. I held my breath. Hours seemed to pass before he continued—"But I didn't kill him."

I could hear Brutal swallow hard behind me. It was gonna be hard to stomach things if Percy didn't tell us every detail of this murder.

"What do you mean, someone _took_ your shank off of you?"

He looked at the floor despondently, staying silent.

"I was really considerin' to do it," he muttered, afraid to raise his eyes. "But I didn't—what happened wasn't my fault, and that's all you need to know."

"Then _what happened_? Clear yourself of this matter, for once and for all. Who did it?"

"It all happened so fast—" he stammered, falling silent. We stood in position like statues, glaring him down for a continuance.

"I had the shank—I had the right angle and everything; it would have been the perfect moment to do somethin' like that…. but somethin' told me not to do it; couple of seconds later, someone else had seen the advantage as well and grabbed my shank off me: he got 'im and threw 'im up over the fencing."

"Who?" Brutal said demandingly.

"I can't say—"

"Want to stay with Reddy for the rest of your sentence? I swear to you, we'll make you his new permanent cellmate."

He paused a second, then looked up at Brutal in disbelief, eyes narrowed.

"Just stay quiet, and I'll take that as a yes," the brawny blond said.

Percy continued to gape silently, until Brutal started to come at him. He finally spoke again.

"It was—" his voice fell to a hush—"Denger. I had nothin' to do with it, swear to God—"

Roy Denger had had a run-in with Dean on several occasions. He lived two cells down from Reddy and could have been in that particular place at that particular time. And he was big enough to lift Dean over the fencing. Percy was not. It was definitely possible for Denger do have done such a thing—more possible than Percy.

I watched Percy intently from my standing position as he stayed still as rock, his hair all unfettered and a sweaty mess upon his head. Stunned speechless, I needed very badly to get some air. I wondered what was going through Brutal's head. Why hadn't Percy just told us that before? Had he kept it from us merely because he knew we wanted to know?

I turned my head to look at Brutal, who was squinting at Percy's slumped figure, arms crossed, probably unsure what to believe. I squeezed past him, still unable to utter a word.

Was Percy going to be some kind of martyr now, proclaiming the mistreatment by us, his fellow guards, for something he hadn't done? It wouldn't be hard to start a wave of that kind of feeling, so why hadn't he done it already? Only Percy, Brutal and I had heard his named confession, and maybe Reddy too, but Reddy wasn't about to get Percy killed—it would only hurt him to do something as cruel as that. We had time to do further investigation before nailing Denger. I had to be certain….

But why had the President turned down deals for us just to hear Percy's side, as pitiful as it was? I could understand why he didn't admit the man's name right away, but something still wasn't sitting right with me….

Brutal soon joined me outside the cell, and we called down for the cell door to be closed. Percy remained seated after the cell door had shut, and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He didn't smile or laugh or curse or sigh, nothing. I wanted to wait, even if it was hours, just to see his next move. That would tell me how true his story was. Brutal stood by Percy's cell a while longer. He couldn't take his eye off him either.

--The Standoff ----

Brutal stared down Percy as he stood outside his cell. He didn't want to let the man out of his sight, lest he give away his intentions in his body language.

"There's gonna be questioning now, Percy; we are gonna put away the culprit. Why didn't you save yourself all that trouble and tell us right off the bat?"

"I'd only have been killed sooner."

"Rest assured, nothing's gonna happen to you."

"You jus' keep tellin' yourself that," he muttered sarcastically.

--Paul--

As I left C block, I had some burning questions. I had to talk to Bill Dodge.

"Bill," I said, approaching him near his office. "Do you remember seein' Denger over near the place Dean was thrown from?"

"Come to think of it, he _was_ right there. 'Course, there were plenty of others too, a big ol' gang of them near Stanton."

"Percy Wetmore says that Denger killed Dean. What do you think?"

"Wait—how in the hell did you get him to admit somethin' like that, Paul?"

"Let's just say the only thing we needed to hurt was his ego," I replied, flashing a slight smile. I waited for his answer to my question.

"I guess it'd be possible. He's definitely big enough to pick up Dean, but we had jus' confiscated a shank from Denger earlier that morning and searched his cell. Surely he couldn't have gotten another one in that time."

"Apparently he grabbed Percy's shank off of him to do the job. At least, that's what Percy told us," I added.

"Wetmore had a shank?" Bill was in total disbelief, and I could understand why. People like Percy never had the resources to get such a weapon.

"Yeah, I had seen it the first day he picked it up. I wasn't sure though, but even so, damn kid broke my arm when I tried to get it off him."

"Well, that connects some dots, if'n it were true. When you gonna question Denger 'bout all this? How sure are you?"

"I don't know—were any other guards working that day that could have been eyewitnesses?"

Bill thought a moment, his hand to his chubby chin. "How about Roberts? I do believe he was there."

Larry Roberts was a new addition to C block, but he was damn tough. Had he been up on the second floor that day, there'd have been inmate blood on the concrete and not Dean's. I hadn't thought to speak to him, but it'd be the first time I'd ever have spoken to him. Fortunately he was on duty that day in the mess hall.

After departing from Bill, I met up with Larry to hear his account. First of course there was the useless small talk I had to come up with to break the ice a bit, and then I went into my questioning.

"Lemme see—Dean was surrounded by guys—that little ex-guard guy was somewhere behind him—Flanders was there, Smith, Denger—Denger was probably the closest to Dean, yeah, I think I heard him and the guard arguin'—but I didn't see who killed him," he told me.

"So you didn't actually see someone—slit his throat?" I managed to stutter, finding the words hard to say.

"No, I didn't. Just a group of prisoners in the vicinity, then he was dropped off the railing there—"

I left Larry feeling like shit. Why had I not asked _him_ first, spared all the questions and the torture of Percy, our constant scapegoat? I could have cut to the chase and gotten Denger right away.

Oh, God, I had been so wrong about Percy; I had had him tortured and had stood by as he had the shit kicked out of him and even been one of the reasons he was incarcerated in the first place and here he was, changing his mind at the perfect opportunity to do permanent harm to someone he hated. How could I have been so wrong? Had he indeed changed, or had he never been as evil as everyone always thought he was?

Soon after the shift changed, I returned to C Block, hoping that Brutal had nailed Denger already. All the inmates were gone; I glanced at my watch to see that the inmates were probably preparing for dinner. Hoping to find Brutal in the process, I ventured down to the mess hall.

What I saw when I entered the hall made my blood run cold. Percy was in the center of the room, a shank against his neck, held fast by Denger. Both were standing on a table, for they could be seen above a mob of inmates surrounding them. Brutal was not among the guards present, for they had brought Percy and Reddy down for the meal with the others. Did Reddy tell Denger what Percy had said? If not, who said what?

"What in the hell is going on? How the hell did Denger find out what Wetmore said?" I inquired of several nearby guards.

"Lawson got word of the guilty party. He didn't know Wetmore was still down here when he approached Denger. Somehow Wetmore must have let on that he was the accuser at some point, and so—"

"Why in God's name did he choose _now_ to confront Denger? At least wait until he's back in his cell!"

"I don't rightly know, Paul. You're gonna have to talk to Lawson about that. Beats me why he chose such a time."

Even though they were trying, the guards hadn't yet been able to fight their way to Percy's aid, and were generally standing by for a riot but not to save the man's life. I saw the blood begin to stream from Percy's neck, a slow stream but a stream nonetheless. He flashed me a look of terror, struggling against his holds.

"Guards!" I yelled to the hesitating bunch. "Get Wetmore out of there!" I said. Immediately they sprung to action, but the crowds of inmates held them at bay. I knew I couldn't do much with my broken arm, but I had to get over there—just had to save at least _one_ falsely accused man from certain death. I just _had_ to.

I yanked out my club and wrapped its strong leather strap several times across my hand and wrist. "Let me in there!" I heard myself yelling, as I swung it menacingly back and forth, allowing a path for movement. Inmates were still screaming, yelling for Denger to kill Percy.

"Don't kill him, Denger!" I yelled, pushing through the inmates as best I could. I felt my cast being pummeled and soon all the inmates I passed knew to wrench my arm—causing me excruciating pain all the while. I ignored them and pressed on, desperate to prevent something terrible from happening to Percy.

The former guard had more than likely pissed his pants by this point, and his eyes almost seemed to bug out from his head, big and glassy. He looked like a lost, frightened kid and I had to avert my gaze to avoid my emotions from showing. Percy's true self had appeared, a scared little kid stuck in a swarm of people he knew hated him. Could I blame him for being such an asshole to us? Maybe he could feel how others felt about him and responded in kind. Suddenly it seemed possible to understand what Percy was all about. The timing was terrible.

After I had gotten a distance closer to Denger, he made another incision on Percy's neck, creating a faster-flowing crimson stream. All the color left Percy's face, and I could see the sweat pouring from his head in large beads.

"Denger, let him go!" I yelled. "You still have a chance to redeem yourself, and this is it! Please, let him go! Percy! You jus' hold on there, Percy!"

I almost had the inclination to shut my eyes, for this was the time that Denger would probably finish Percy off. Instead, however, I heard his voice, booming loudly above the voices of the jeering inmates.

"He deserves to die!" he roared, the shank running dangerously close to what must be the main arteries to the head. I wondered what exactly he meant by his shouted words, but before I could ask, he continued.

"Come on, Wetmore, tell the truth," he coaxed his captive. Percy squirmed and tried to pull away, but the mob pushed him back towards Denger. I reached out in an attempt to grab Percy's flailing arm and received a deep razor wound instead. Flinching, I pulled back my arm to watch the flood of red spill from it as the pain throbbed. Now both of my arms were useless, and it was only a matter of time before my club was wrenched from my hand and used to strike me in any place it could land. Somehow I ignored all the damage being done to me and watched Denger and Percy as intently as a hawk on his prey.

"Tell me what you told this guard," Denger demanded of the quivering bleeding man that I felt enormous pity for at the moment. A whack from the club, and I saw stars, but I attempted to get in closer. Maybe Percy could be saved.

Percy at first resisted, watching me with wide eyes as he kept silent, but then the shank disappeared momentarily, causing Percy to scream, and begin to speak.

"I told him—that you killed the guard—" I heard Percy say above the roar of the inmates. There was now a wound on the top of his head, for blood was flowing down his face and trickling around his ears. The shank drew close to his vulnerable neck once more.

"Denger, don't do it!" I yelled, my eyes darting around to look for backup. The other guards had made pitiful attempts at advancing towards the center. Suddenly I saw Brutal at the entrance to the mess hall. I watched him gape at me, and pull out his pistol, shouting something unintelligible. All went black.

mmmmm

I awoke to find myself a distance from the center of the mess hall, Brutal guarding over me. Before I could compose myself in any way, I stood up quickly, veering towards the standoff still in progress as my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the basement room. I watched in horror as Percy fall from Denger's grasp, hearing the sickening crack as his head hit the floor.


	6. Conclusion

AN: This is the last chapter. I'm sorry it's so short! Please tell me what you think!

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At the sound of bone cracking, the other inmates backed off and guards attacked Denger. I ran over to the limp figure of Percy, blood slowly pooling out from his head.

"What in the hell are you doing?" I heard Bill Dodge yell over the quieting clamor.

Brutal was soon holding my shoulders as I attempted to squat next to Percy's body.

"Oh my God," I cried. "I couldn't save him."

"He may still be alive," Brutal answered. "But who cares anyway."

"How can you say that? He _redeemed_ himself by resisting—and I let another one slip through my hands…."

"He killed Dean, Paul."

I looked incredulously at Brutal. My head was throbbing, and I hoped that I'd be able to hear Brutal over the ringing in my ears.

"While you were out of it, Percy admitted that he had falsely accused Denger. It was _he_ that took advantage of Dean's arguing with Denger to slit Dean's throat. Dean fell onto Denger after he was shanked, so Denger threw his body over the fencing before the blood could get all over him and he'd look like the guilty one. He actually had no idea who had actually killed Dean until around the same time we got the 'confession' from Percy."

Suddenly, I felt dizzy, and almost stumbled to the floor. Brutal caught me, and continued to explain as I sank down slowly onto my haunches.

"After we talked to Percy earlier, I left C Block but told the guards what had happened, and to get Denger, but to wait until he was back in his cell. Not only did they bring Percy to dinner where Denger was, but then they approached Denger at the _same time_. They made it obvious as all hell."

I stared at Percy's motionless body on the floor, watching his chest intently for any sign of breathing. He was still breathing, but very shallowly. So I was wrong about the man again. He was no fearful, innocent child or untrusting dog having been beaten through the years. Percy Wetmore was an evil man, and he was still alive.

"You're in bad shape, Paul," I heard Brutal say. "We need to get you to the infirmary."

I watched the guards restraining the inmates, taking them out of the shower room, all ignoring the body in front of me. I couldn't help but stare at the motionless body of Percy. The eyes that had watched Eduard Delacroix fry in Old Sparky, the foot that had smashed Mr. Jingles to the tiles of the green mile, the hand that had held the gun that killed Wild Bill six times over. The blood that spilled out each second, distancing the soul—_wherever_ it was hiding in Percy—from life.

"Make sure Percy gets to the infirmary first," I told Brutal. "He's gonna be dead soon if we don't hurry."

He flashed me a look of confusion. The thought of saving Percy's life was apparently not a priority—or even an option—to anyone.

"Please, Brutal," I managed to murmur, flecks of light beginning to appear in my vision again, "Good or bad, he shouldn't die here today."

Mmmmmmm

I visited Percy several times after the incident. I waited 'til my arm finally healed up, and I can only assume that John Coffey was responsible for allowing me to live the day that Percy re-entered the world of catatonia. I suffered four broken ribs, a fractured skull, a major slice in my arm that required fifteen stitches, a shattered forearm that had once been a fractured forearm, and I lost almost a third of my blood, I'm told. And yet I lived—a miracle, just like poor old John Coffey.

I was told that Percy was physically harmed less than me that day. Of course, he had a few slices in his neck and a fractured skull himself, but even so, with fewer injuries, he ended up much worse off than me. I'll always wonder if John Coffey had anything to do with how he ended up.

He was only moved up the road a few miles, at Briar Ridge, a former home of his, and ironically, where he was originally intending on working. They kept him in a padded room where the nurses slid rubber trays through a slit in the door and he was kept away from any kind of sharp object. Apparently Briar Ridge knew what Percy was capable of. They only allowed me to enter the room because I was a prison guard and I 'knew' how to handle him, if he'd by some chance snap out of it. They said he was bound to snap out of it again at any minute, but I surely doubted that, even at the time. And I was correct; he never did snap out of it again.

Of all the bad judgments I've made in the past, I'm certain in knowing Percy hadn't—and never did—learn a damn thing from all that happened to him. Though he withered away over the years in Briar Ridge as his body and mind decayed, his experiences taught me some hard-earned lessons. That being, some people just don't change. Sometimes there isn't a lesson to be learned; there isn't a greater purpose for the violence and suffering in this world. Though he's no better off now than before John Coffey rode the lightning, the lessons Percy Wetmore taught me will remain with me until the day I die—whenever that may be. And God help me, I only wish I knew when.

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End file.
